The Buried Life
by Kalina Lea
Summary: Harry disappears just before the start of his seventh year, and Hermione and Snape work together to find him. **COMPLETE**
1. Prologue

Rating: Mild R, for profanity and adult themes. 

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Pairing: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape

Disclaimer: (Applies to all chapters) All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series of books belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers and are being used without permission. No money is being made from their use in this story, and no infringement on the rightful owners is intended. I do claim the words written as my own. Please do not archive without permission.  


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Beta Thanks: I'd like to express my huge debt of gratitude to my friend and beta reader extraordinaire for her advice and encouragement on this story, as on others. "The Buried Life" would be a very different thing indeed were it not for her counsel and red pen. 

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Feedback: can be sent to kalinalea@yahoo.com. Reviews are lovely, too!

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The Buried Life: Prologue

  
Harry Potter was tired.

His life, which at one time had seemed a grand adventure, particularly when compared to being cooped up inside a cupboard, now made him feel continuously queasy with the sheer excesses of excitement. What had once been intoxicating, invigorating, thrilling, was now simply exhausting. In his first years at Hogwarts, he had been like the clichéd kid-in-a-candy-store. He had pursued the excitement at first, turned it into a game, dragged his friends along for his wild ride – gorged himself – until suddenly, at the end of his fourth year, it quit being a game. 

__

"Kill the spare."

That's what his friends had become in Voldemort's single-minded pursuit of Harry Potter: completely expendable, their worth in Voldemort's estimation reduced to Harry's reactions. Harry had tried to get them to abandon him - had tried, for a time, to isolate himself in the hopes of keeping them safe, but Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were made of sterner stuff than that and refused to leave his side. In his fifth year, they had followed him into the Forbidden Forest and gazed on Voldemort's reptilian face and vicious red eyes for the first time. Ron missed finals that year; he had been in the hospital wing recovering from the after-effects of the thrice-repeated Cruciatus curse Voldemort had laughingly cast. Harry knew with a certainty borne of far-too-intimate acquaintance that the only reason Voldemort had cast Cruciatus instead of Avada Kedavra at Ron was that he took such pleasure in tormenting Harry with his friend's pain. Hermione had remained concealed beneath the invisibility cloak and had managed to cast several well-timed diversion charms. She had probably saved all their lives that night though, of course, Harry was the one who received the ovation at the Leaving Feast. Harry was the one who was made, in his sixth year at Hogwarts, a full member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. 

And so it came to pass that in late May of that year, he stood in an obscure field outside of Hogsmeade alongside other members of the Order - including his Godfather and several of his professors – and defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort. 

Finally. 

Once and for all. 

Dead, gone, and never coming back. 

Voldemort had claimed that he couldn't be killed. Virtually everyone believed that Voldemort would never be killed. Even the members of the Order had hoped for, at best, a return to the days after Harry had received his scar, when Voldemort was so weakened that he lost his following and his ability to wreak havoc on the world. No one hoped for a miracle – just a respite from the fear and suspicion that poisoned the wizarding world every minute that Voldemort wielded his power.

One man, and one man only, had known the truth, and, inscrutable as ever, he had kept it to himself. 

Harry looked up at the all-too-familiar ceiling, acknowledging its cracks as old friends and wondering, with some detached part of his brain, if perhaps Professor Trelawney might be able to read something in their pattern. She professed an ability to read something in virtually everything else, so it wouldn't surprise him at all if the ancient plaster led to a burst of prophesy. _Let's see…that long line there probably means that someone wants me dead. That'd make her happy. Though the list of people who want me dead is a bit shorter today than it was yesterday. The short one probably means that a bunch of people I hardly know sent candy I don't feel like eating. _He glanced at the table next to him and noted dispassionately that it was probably his biggest haul ever. His eyes flickered over the pile of Chocolate Frogs, still in their wrappers. Ron usually had those eaten before Harry even woke up from whatever Voldemort-induced state of unconsciousness had landed him in the infirmary.

Back to the lines, then. 

__

Hmmm. That middle one probably means that Snape is going to give me a detention for not turning in my Potions assignment this morning. I can hear it now: "And I suppose you think saving the world excuses you from your responsibilities as a student at this school, don't you Mr. Potter? Well, the rest of the wizarding population may be impressed with you, but I can assure you that I do not share in their adoration. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and you'll be spending tonight with Mr. Filch." 

Harry laughed out loud, a harsh, bitter sound in the echoing room. 

"Care to let an old man in on the joke?" Albus Dumbledore, resplendent as always in robes of white and gold, looked at him from the doorway of the infirmary. "I find that I could use one right now."

Harry blushed and straightened up in his bed. "Er…just wondering if Professor Trelawney would be able to read anything from these cracks in the ceiling." He felt like an idiot the minute the words came out of his mouth, but Dumbledore smiled at him kindly and moved to his bedside.

"She probably could, at that," he answered, settling his elaborately-robed form comfortably in a chair "I'm not sure anyone in the history of Hogwarts has become as familiar with those cracks as you have, Harry. Let's hope this is your last official visit here."

"Well it should be, shouldn't it? Unless I fall off my broom or something."

"Yes." Dumbledore sat in silence then, staring just over Harry's head, and Harry shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

"Sir?" 

"Yes, Harry."

"I have some questions – about last night, I mean."

"I imagined you would," Dumbledore said simply, peering at Harry over the half-moon glasses. "You may ask me anything, Harry."

Harry noted that Dumbledore didn't qualify the offer as he usually did, but he didn't for a moment expect the straight truth from the Headmaster. The old man never prevaricated, but he had a verbal agility that allowed him to sidestep the truth, tap dance around it, and then land lightly with a half twist some distance away. Conversations with Dumbledore were often dizzying experiences, and Harry really wasn't in the mood for fancy footwork. 

Dumbledore was looking at him expectantly. Harry marshalled his thoughts. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley…are they…?"

"They were here this morning to claim…to take Ron home," Dumbledore answered heavily. "Miss Weasley went with them. She has been excused from her final examinations this year."

"I wanted to talk to them," Harry said quietly. 

"And they will want to talk to you, too, I'm sure. They do not blame you, Harry. Arthur was quite clear on that point."

"Stupid git," Harry said bitterly. "Why did he have to follow me? Voldemort cursed him before I ever even knew he was there. Voldemort thought that was quite funny."

Harry wondered at his own calm words, at the strength of his voice, but it seemed that his grief for Ron was buried deep beneath too many other feelings, and first among them was this consuming exhaustion that left him sufficient energy to consider cracks on the ceiling but none whatever to express his anguish at the loss of his best friend.

"Ron Weasley gave his life to the cause last night, Harry. If it hadn't been for him, we wouldn't have known where to find you. Professor McGonagall saw him sneaking out, you see. He followed you, and we followed him. I know it's difficult, Harry, but Ron _had to die_ for you to do what you did."

"I don't understand," Harry said, feeling dull and at least one step behind, as he usually did during conversations with Dumbledore. "It just doesn't make sense. If I have the power to kill Voldemort, why didn't I do it last year? Or the year before that? Last night, he got hold of my wand, and yet somehow, I managed to defeat the most powerful wizard in the world. And you're saying Ron had something to do with that?"

"He had everything to do with it." Dumbledore's voice was gentle, and the wizened eyes that looked on Harry were sad. "May I ask you something, Harry?"

"Sure, Professor."

"Yesterday you killed Lord Voldemort – the first time you've killed anyone, I believe. How do you feel about that today?"

Harry looked at the Headmaster, confused. "How do I feel? I feel…" He thought for another moment. How strange not to be able to answer such a simple question. And then he got a mental image of the flash of green light…the answering pain bursting from inside his head out through his scar…and then Ron….falling to the ground… freckles standing out on a pale face…the shock of red hair over blank, unseeing eyes. 

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Wonderful," he said, and he felt a belated surge of exultation press through the barrier of the exhaustion and course through him. "I feel absolutely wonderful about killing him. I wish I could do it two or three more times, only slowly and painfully. He killed my parents. He killed my best friend. He deserves what he got and then some."

Dumbledore nodded. "As I thought."

"Sir?"

"You've always had the power to kill Lord Voldemort, Harry. What you've lacked is the _desire_ to kill. You've lacked the hatred that was required. Last night, without meaning to, Voldemort gave you the final thing you needed to call forth the powers you've always possessed – some of them powers that _he_ gave to you when you were just a baby. I doubt he would appreciate the irony of that, even if he were around to realize it."

"So you're saying I was wrong to kill him?" Harry asked slowly. 

"No, my dear boy. I'm not saying that at all." There was no twinkle in Dumbledore's eye now and he looked every one of his extraordinary years. "I confess that I'm very glad that you killed Voldemort last night. You have, indeed, made the entire world a better place. I simply want you to understand that you might find that your perspective on the world has changed based on the choice that you made last night. To kill Voldemort, you had to meet him on equal ground. You had to search within yourself and find some of the evil that possessed him, magnify it for a few moments, and project a hatred strong enough to destroy the vilest wizard who has ever lived. That kind of hatred can poison the best of men. I should not wish to see it poison you."

"You knew, didn't you?" Harry asked in a sudden flash of insight. "You knew I had the power to kill Voldemort."

Dumbledore nodded. "Do you remember your first year here, when you asked me why Voldemort wanted to kill you when you were just a baby?"

"You told me I couldn't know yet."

"No. You were too young then. You may be too young yet, but I will tell you all I know." Dumbledore stroked his long beard for a moment, and then went on. "Most young witches and wizards begin to show signs of their powers around the age of three or so, but in their infancy, they tend to be indistinguishable from Muggle children. You, however, showed signs of your powers practically from the day of your birth." He chuckled a bit. "You know, you nearly drove your poor mother to distraction. You could summon things that you wanted from across the room by the time you were three months old. She could hardly take her eyes off of you for fear you'd summon something small enough to choke on. You had a mobile over your crib that you particularly liked, and the minute it wound down, you would start it up again. James got so sick of the song it played that he threatened to throw it away. He tried charming it to play other tunes, and you changed it back."

A smile played about Harry's lips and he sat up a bit straighter in his bed. He wondered if he would ever get enough of hearing about his parents. Dumbledore went on. "They asked me to come see you when you were about six months old. They weren't sure what to make of you, frankly, and asked me if I had any idea why you were so precocious magically when they had each been, to all accounts, perfectly normal in their development. I confess that I wasn't sure how to answer their question, but I was sufficiently impressed by the demonstration of your abilities that I began to do a little research into your parents' respective lineages. I knew a great many members of the Potter family personally, and while they all tended to be quite bright – and extraordinary fliers, I might add – none had shown the kind of giftedness I was seeing in you. So, I turned to Lily's family tree, and that turned up something interesting. Most of them were Muggles, plain and simple. Some were better than others, some were brighter than others, but I saw no sign that any of them had been witches or wizards until I went back more generations than I care to say and found the name of Anna Hallow."

"I've never heard of her," Harry said. "Is she someone I'm supposed to remember from Professor Binns' class?"

Dumbledore smiled at that. "No, though I suppose in light of recent events, Anna Hallow may well make the syllabus one day – assuming Professor Binns ever gets around to updating it. No, Harry, Anna Hallow is a part of my own history. She was, in fact, my father's mistress. I was aware of the relationship but unaware that she had borne his child."

"So you're saying that you and I…we're related somehow?" 

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed we are, Harry. When I first saw what you were capable of as a baby, it occurred to me that the only other child I'd ever heard of with similar abilities was myself. My own mother had stories about my infancy that were strikingly similar to Lily's. Neither of my brothers had similar gifts. They were boys of average intelligence and average to below average wizarding abilities. My brother Aberforth was something of a black sheep, and my brother Allenson was little better than a squib. I can only think that they inherited their magical abilities from my mother while I inherited from my father, and whatever it was that he passed on to me also passed down through your Muggle relatives. Your mother may, actually, have possessed some of the same abilities as an infant. Her parents wouldn't have been conditioned to look for magical powers and, thus, would have tried to ascribe logical explanations to whatever magic she was capable of performing. You know how dreadfully obtuse Muggles can be about magic."

Harry nodded, still trying to take it all in, and Dumbledore went on. "Voldemort was aware that my powers approached or equalled his own, but he was also aware of my reluctance to use Dark Magic – my reluctance to meet him on his own ground. It put me at a disadvantage. He knew it and exploited it. And then you were born, and you began to display signs of significant, extraordinary powers; I believe he knew even then that you might be someone who would pose a threat to him one day."

"Wormtail," Harry said softly. "He was the one who told Voldemort about me."

"I feel sure that was the case. Of course, for years we thought it was Sirius, but it was obvious from Voldemort's sudden interest in your family that someone in their inner circle of friends was betraying them to Voldemort. It is why James and Lily went into hiding."

"How did you know that Voldemort was taking an interest in my mum and dad? How did they _know_ to go into hiding?" 

"Professor Snape." Dumbledore got a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, and then pulled himself back to the present and focused on the boy in front of him. "Professor Snape was a Death Eater, Harry – of course, you know that already. He heard of Voldemort's plans for James and Lily – and you – and I think it was the final straw, as the Muggles say. He detested your father, but I believe he had a bit of a soft spot for Lily, and the thought of murdering the infant child of his schoolmates was repulsive to him. He came to me, allowed me to administer Veritaserum, and offered to turn spy against Voldemort. We sent your parents into hiding on his suggestion."

Harry sank back against the bed and closed his eyes against the onslaught of feelings that Dumbledore's recitation had called forth. At that moment, he hated the entire wizarding world. He hated his parents for trusting Wormtail, and Snape for saving his life again and again only to treat him like refuse every chance he got. He hated Ron for being stupid enough to follow him and step in front of Voldemort's lethal wand, and he hated Dumbledore, whose fault it all somehow was. 

__

Dumbledore had been right! It was as if hatred and filth had been unleashed in him in a flash of green light, and now he was powerless to stop it. He opened his eyes suddenly, startled, and saw a look of sympathy pass across the Headmaster's face. 

"It will take time to absorb all of this," Dumbledore said gently. "And you have a deep loss to grieve. Give yourself time, Harry. Sirius would like for you to spend the summer with him. There is now no reason why you can't do just that. I am prepared to exempt you from your final examinations. You may leave Hogwarts immediately if you wish."

Harry thought for a moment. "I think…I think I'd like to take my exams, sir. I can't promise I'll do all that well, but I need to be…normal…if that makes sense. And I don't want to leave Hermione just yet. It's always been the three of us, you know, and now…"

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand perfectly, Harry. Would you like me to send Miss Granger to see you?"

"Couldn't I just go back to my dormitory?" Harry countered. "I feel fine. I actually felt fine last night except for a little headache and Madam Pomfrey cured that in about five seconds. I don't really need to be here, sir."

"Very well, then," Dumbledore said after a moment's thought. "But Harry, I should prepare you…there is much celebration in the wizarding world right now, and some of that has spilled over to our student population. It may be a bit difficult for you. Just remind yourself that Ron gave his life for something that mattered very much and try to forgive anyone who seems insensitive to the price that was paid last night. I know that for you, the price has been terribly high."

Harry hadn't even considered that people would be celebrating. They might be brothers under the skin - or distant cousins, or whatever - but there was still a reason why Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster and Harry Potter the lowly student. _Celebration?_ When Ron Weasley had _died_? Full comprehension of Ron's death had yet to hit, and Harry knew that it would land on him like an Unforgivable when it did, but it was still inconceivable to him that anyone could possibly be _celebrating _on this day. He had never felt less like celebrating in his life.

"Yes, sir," he managed. 

"You have an open invitation to come to me, Harry, if I can ever be of help to you." Dumbledore rose from the chair by Harry's bed and made his customary slow, almost regal, exit. 


	2. Hogsmeade in the Morning

Harry awoke to the soft thud of a pillow hitting his head and a gruff voice saying, "If you want your breakfast, you'd better get your lazy arse out of bed, hear?"

It was not, he reflected, terribly different from the way the Dursleys had always awakened him, but in this case the affection in the gruff voice was unmistakable, and he smiled even as he groaned into his pillow. "Gimme a minute," he mumbled. 

"Fine then," Sirius answered with a chuckle. "Just don't blame me if there's naught but crumbs left by the time you get downstairs. Remus and I are hungry." Sirius left the room then, and Harry heard his heavy footsteps descending the cottage stairs for the living areas below.

Harry inspected his pillow for another minute or two and then reached for his glasses and settled them in place, feeling more awake as the room came into proper focus. He rolled himself out of the bed and pulled a wrinkled T-shirt over his head before staggering into the loo. Having completed his most pressing business there, he glanced into the mirror and made an automatic yet futile effort to smooth down his hair. Unfortunately, what passed for "bed head" with most people was normal for him, and as ever, his hair defied his attempts to tame it. He paused for a moment as his hand passed over his smooth forehead. It had been nearly two months since his scar had disappeared in a blinding flash of green light, and he still hadn't grown accustomed to its absence. It was as if his nose or one of his eyes had suddenly gone missing; the scar had been his most prominent feature, in a way, and though he'd thought he detested it, now that it was gone he found that he missed it somehow.

"Weird," he muttered. 

"I'd not worry, dearie," the mirror replied comfortingly. "You're just at a bit of an awkward stage right now."

"Oh shut up," Harry said, shooting the mirror – and thus, himself, a glare. Since the onset of adolescence, he'd developed a distinct preference for Muggle mirrors.

He clattered downstairs to the pleasantly cluttered kitchen and seated himself at the table with his father's two closest friends. "Morning," he said, reaching for a piece of toast.

"Good morning, Harry," Remus replied pleasantly. "Sleep well?"

"Fine," Harry answered. "Just stayed up a bit late reading my new Quidditch magazine."

"I notice your school books haven't made it out of the trunk yet," Sirius said pointedly.

Harry glared at him. "I've got a month yet before classes begin. Don't know why they make assignments over the summer anyway. Snape wants three feet of parchment on the uses of Mandrakes and two feet on mermaid tears. How are you even supposed to get mermaids to _cry_ anyway?"

"'Spect that's part of what you'll need to include in your essay," Sirius said. "Leave off the Quidditch rags and start hitting the schoolbooks."

Harry shoved another piece of toast in his mouth and didn't answer. 

"Pumpkin juice, Harry?" Remus asked.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, holding out his glass.

"I believe Sirius made a mermaid cry once," Remus said reflectively as he poured, and Sirius choked on his coffee. 

"Don't go telling the boy about _that_," he said firmly, and Harry laughed when Remus shot him a wink.

"You know, Sirius, you're quite big on 'do as I say and not as I do,'" Harry pointed out smugly.

"'Course I am." Sirius acknowledged his guilt without a trace of shame. "Your father would have been the same, you know. I promise whatever I was in, James was in just as deep."

Harry nodded his understanding and turned miserable eyes to his plate, but he left the obvious words unspoken. He and Ron had been like that. Never saw one without the other. If one was caught at something, the professors tended to assign detention to both of them just because the plausibility of joint involvement was so great. Remus and Sirius cast sympathetic looks in his direction but said nothing. There was nothing left to say, nothing to do but wait for time to do its inevitable work, smoothing out the jagged ridges of the pain until they became something manageable. The day would come, Sirius knew, when simple comments such as the one he had just made would pass unnoticed, or nearly so. Until then, he tried to tread gently around Harry's feelings, but he still made the occasional misstep. 

"What time is Hermione coming?" Sirius asked, attempting a change of subject.

"I think she said late this afternoon," Harry answered, lifting his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "In time for dinner."

"I'm looking forward to seeing her," Remus said with a smile. "She's a delightful girl."

Harry snorted at that. "Well, Sirius can leave off nagging me about my homework. Hermione does enough of that for any ten people. She's probably written twenty feet for Snape already."

"Probably," Remus agreed, laughing. He remembered quite well the special challenges that came with teaching Hermione Granger.

Sirius had picked up the _Daily Prophet_ and was absently skimming the headlines, muttering things like, "bloody Ministry idiots" and "no _idea_ what they're up against." Harry and Remus, used to both the content and manner of Sirius's editorialising, ignored him completely. Harry began reading the Quidditch news on the back of the paper Sirius was holding. 

"They're holding tryouts for England's reserve team," he noted. "I wonder if I'd be good enough to play professionally?"

Sirius lowered the paper and looked at his godson. "You think that's something you'd like to do?"

"Are you daft? Of course I would!"

Sirius chuckled. "Well then, yes, I'd say you were good enough. You're better than your father, and that's saying something. Just do me a favour and wait until you finish Hogwarts to try out. I'll have to meet your mother again one day, and I'd just as soon it be a pleasant experience."

Harry was so excited he could hardly sit still. "I'm going to practice harder this year than ever," he said. "The team's not going to know what hit 'em. They'll wish Oliver was back by the time I'm through with them." 

Sirius put down his paper and looked like he was about to start talking about Harry's schoolwork again when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He gave Harry a we're-not-finished-with-this-conversation glance and got up to answer it. 

An extremely dishevelled Severus Snape stood on the doorstep. 

"Snape," Sirius said by way of lukewarm greeting, and then he opened the door wider and indicated that the Potions Master could come in. Snape nodded and crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him, and Harry could swear that all warmth fled the room.

Snape was wearing wizard's robes, open at the front with wrinkled Muggle clothing beneath. It appeared that he had slept in his clothing at least once, and perhaps more than that. His hair, always greasy, framed his sallow face in lank clumps. 

"You look awful," Harry blurted, and then he immediately wished he had simply severed his tongue upon rising that morning instead of wasting his time with all that futile patting-down-of-the-hair. 

Snape fixed him with a familiar black glare. "Thank you, Mr. Potter," he said scathingly. "Although I might point out that I, at least, am wearing trousers."

Harry looked down at his boxer shorts and shrugged. "I always eat breakfast in my underwear."

"How delightful. I'm sure it will make for equal parts entertainment and indigestion in the Great Hall come fall," Snape answered smoothly. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a matter I need to discuss with your godfather and Lupin. Perhaps you could employ yourself elsewhere for a few moments."

Harry shot Sirius a look of outrage. He was conditioned not to argue with Snape upon penalty of detentions and loss of points, but it was summer, damn it, and he was in his own house. Sirius read Harry's thoughts, and his lips twitched slightly but he didn't say a word.

Harry marshalled his courage. "You can't throw me out of my own kitchen," he said. "I live here."

"Congratulations." Snape folded his arms and fixed Harry with the glare again. "_Get…out_."

"Really, Severus," Remus said mildly. "Must you always…" he didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. He sighed and turned to Harry. "Harry, would you please go upstairs and let us speak with Professor Snape in private?"

Harry was still furious, but he looked at Sirius again and got a slight nod this time. "Fine," he snapped, scraping back his chair. "So much for all that rot about me being a 'full member of the Order.' Now that I've conveniently killed Voldemort, everyone can go back to treating me like a child."

"Ungrateful wretch," Snape spat out. "Has it occurred to you that perhaps being treated like a child is the greatest gift anyone could give you right now?"

"That's enough, Snape," Sirius said firmly. "Harry, leave us alone, please." 

Harry dared to shoot Snape a final glare and stomped up the stairs. 

"Now, Severus, what can we do for you?" Remus rose from his chair and pressed a cup of coffee into Snape's hands.

Snape didn't bother to voice his thanks, but he wrapped his long fingers gratefully around the cup and took an appreciative sip before sinking into the chair Harry had so reluctantly vacated. He steeled himself to say hated words. 

"I need your help."

Sirius raised an eyebrow and dropped back into his own seat. "What is it?"

"Since the end of term, I've been actively monitoring my old channels of information," Snape said carefully. "There are many Death Eaters out there who are still unaccounted for, and it is too much to hope that they will just quietly subside into law-abiding citizens. Unfortunately, Voldemort was particularly careful in recent years about keeping us from knowing exactly who our fellow Death Eaters were. Some, of course, I do know, and those I've taken care to either hand over to the Aurors or, in one case, to deal with myself."

Remus's head snapped up at that. "Does Dumbledore know that?"

Snape's mouth turned up in a bitter smile. "Of course. I am an accomplished liar but not quite so over-confident that I waste my time trying to deceive Albus Dumbledore. He was…displeased, but I was able to make him see that under the circumstances it was my only option. Albus and I differ on exactly what it means to be at war. I'm afraid that I have long since lost my confidence in good triumphing over evil."

"We're in agreement about one thing, then," Sirius said grudgingly.

"A first time for everything," Snape said lightly. "However, I didn't interrupt your breakfast to wax philosophical. Last night, while dining with several men I considered worthy of my attentions, I was made aware of something you need to know about. It concerns the young hero currently sulking in his bedroom."

"What? Tell me." Sirius's voice was low, but his eyes blazed and as he leaned across the table he looked nearly out of his wits with fury. 

Snape shook his head. "These…gentlemen, for want of a better word, were not in possession of the full plan. They had merely heard through their own channels that there was someone out there who planned to kidnap Harry Potter."

"Retribution?" Remus asked.

"I think not, actually," Snape said thoughtfully. "From what I was able to glean, their interest in Mr. Potter is somewhat more…disturbing than mere retaliation for the defeat of their Dark Lord."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Sirius growled. "Out with it, Snape!"

Snape shot Sirius a withering look. "Forgive me, Black. I'll try to express myself in small words that you'll understand. Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort. He killed the most powerful wizard in the world. To put it in Quidditch terms, he is the current champion. He has demonstrated, amply, that he is more powerful than Voldemort and that he is willing to use that power to kill. Can you not see why it might occur to people _less_ powerful that now was a good time to recruit Harry Potter to their team?"

"Harry would _never_…he would die first!" Sirius shouted, slamming the table with the palm of his hand.

Snape rolled his eyes at the display. "As it happens, Black, I agree with you. Which makes twice in one day, incidentally - certainly a record. Potter has demonstrated his very _Gryffindor_ incorruptibility time and again. I agree that he would probably choose death. However, I feel certain you would prefer that he not have to make that choice."

"Tell me what you want us to do." 

"First of all, we need to relocate Potter to Hogwarts. Albus can keep him safe there. I need you two to come with me, and there can be no question of leaving him here by himself."

"He's not going to be happy about this," Remus cautioned.

"Forgive me if I don't take the time to give a bloody damn," Snape snapped. "He's seventeen years old, still a student, and we're trying to save his miserable hide. He'll do as he's told."

"That he will," Sirius said grimly. "What will we do?"

"I've arranged a meeting tonight with two men who I hope will have some additional information about the plan. It will be necessary for you to affect a complete disguise, so I've prepared a Polyjuice Potion. You will go as Daken and Philose, two of the least intelligent Death Eaters Voldemort ever had the misfortune to recruit. I chose them because their personas will be easy to assume and because I had some hair samples already. Just grunt occasionally, appear to have too much to drink, and let me direct the conversation."

"Why do you need us along for this?" Sirius asked. "It seems like a lot of trouble for us to go along and keep our mouths shut."

Snape looked away for a moment and then cleared his throat. "The last time a Potter went into hiding based on my information, Lily and James wound up dead. I should like for us all to gather the information together this time so that there can be no possibility of…misunderstanding."

"Severus," Remus said gently. "Neither Sirius or I hold you responsible for what happened to Lily and James. That was Peter's doing."

Snape gave Remus a brief nod and then said, "It is an instinct – nothing concrete, I assure you – but I have a feeling that _this_ may be Pettigrew's doing as well. It is another reason I've asked you along. I thought that perhaps you would welcome the chance to…meet him again."

"Do you know for sure that Peter is alive?" Sirius rasped, his eyes glittering dangerously.

"I have been unable to prove otherwise," Snape answered carefully. "I think it…likely."

Sirius clenched and unclenched his jaw several times, and then he scraped back his chair and headed for the stairs. "Harry!" he bellowed.

Harry appeared at the top of the stairs. "What? Am I allowed out of my room now?" he asked bitterly.

"Get dressed and pack," Sirius answered. "Snape is taking you to Hogwarts."

  



	3. Hogwarts in the Afternoon

Harry clutched his Firebolt in one hand and Hedwig's empty cage with the other. He had let her fly ahead to the Hogwarts Owlery. Snape had performed a reducing charm on Harry's school trunk and carried it easily under one arm. With his shorter legs, Harry had to take two steps to every one of Snape's, but his Potions Master made no effort to slow down and Harry was bloody well determined not to ask. On sudden inspiration, he stopped, swung a leg over his broom, and soared up and over his surly professor, streaking for the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He gained the Hogwarts entrance in seconds, landed gracefully, and waited with a cocky grin on his face for Snape to catch up. The grin faded when he saw Snape's furious expression, and he braced himself for a blistering lecture that didn't come. Snape merely tapped the entrance with his wand and said, "Go on."

When they were through the gates, Snape said, "If you're so eager to fly, you may do so, assuming you go straight to the castle. No stops, no visits to Hagrid – _straight_ to the castle. Are you capable of following such simple instructions, Potter, or do I need to hold your hand and suffer your company?"

"I want to know what this is all about," Harry said defiantly, now that the ice had been broken and Snape had deigned to speak to him. "It's summer. Why am I here? What was Sirius so upset about? What did you tell him?"

"You are here for your own safety and for your godfather's piece of mind," Snape said coolly; he sounded less angry and more tired than he had before. "That is all that I can tell you right now. You will stay here as long as he deems it necessary. I am exhausted, Potter, and have a long night ahead of me. I would like to return to my chambers for a few hours. So either get on that bloody broom or start walking." Snape did the latter, striding away from Harry in the direction of the castle. Harry sighed, annoyed, but mounted his broom and flew ahead, unable to resist practicing a few dives and feints along the way. If Snape noticed, he gave no indication of it, appearing to be single-minded in his quest for bath and bed. 

Harry landed at the entrance to the castle. The silence of the massive structure was eerie to one who was used to being there only when it was filled with adolescent energy. He pushed the door open and stood in the unnatural quiet, waiting for Snape to come and tell him what to do. 

"Mr Potter?" Minerva McGonagall's voice echoed through the empty Entrance Hall and startled him nearly out of his wits. He whirled around and saw her standing in a doorway.

"Yes, Professor," he managed.

"May I ask what you're doing here?" Professor McGonagall pursed her lips suspiciously and glared over her glasses. She couldn't remember a time when a student had arrived unannounced in the middle of summer break.

"You can ask, Professor, but I can't give you an answer," Harry said, tempering his sulky tone but still realizing that he was walking a fine line. He wondered briefly if house points could be deducted during the break and then decided he didn't much care. "Snape brought me here. Apparently I'm not meant to know why."

"_Professor_ Snape, Mr Potter," McGonagall said reprovingly. "Where is he now?"

"He's on his way." Harry waved his broom a little. "He let me fly ahead."

"I see." She stared at him another long moment and then perched primly on a nearby bench to wait, standing only when she heard the massive door grinding open. 

"Professor Snape," she said, and then she paused as she took in her colleague's appearance. She betrayed her…concern? distaste? Harry wasn't sure…with only the slightest flicker of an eye and then went on. "What is the meaning of this?" She gestured at Harry, and he felt like a troublesome Boggart she'd found hiding among her under things. The rest of the wizarding world might think he was a hero, but his professors certainly had a knack for keeping his ego in check.

"Mr Potter will be staying here at the castle for a time – perhaps for the rest of the break," Snape answered, and both Harry and McGonagall looked at him in surprise. "It is necessary," he added to McGonagall, giving her a look that said he would brook no argument on the matter. He put Harry's trunk down by the stairs and tapped it with his wand, restoring it to its normal dimensions.

"Is the Headmaster aware…"

"Not yet," Snape interrupted, "but I plan to speak to him immediately."

"I'm afraid not. He's in London on Ministry business at present. I believe he's set to return tomorrow afternoon."

"That will be soon enough," Snape said, and privately, he was glad of the reprieve. He wanted a bath and a nap, in that order, and he had not been looking forward to delaying either one with a potentially lengthy conversation with the Headmaster. "I assume Potter can lodge in his dormitory?"

McGonagall nodded automatically and then checked herself. "Of course," she said, "but I'll need to have the room…aired out and his bed made up. Can you give the house-elves a half-hour to prepare your room?" This last to Harry, who shrugged. 

"Sure Professor. I don't have anything I particularly need to do." 

"The library is open should you wish to work on some of your summer assignments," Professor McGonagall said crisply.

"Oh joy," Harry snapped, and he instantly regretted it.

She glared at him over her glasses and immediately reduced him to feeling like a first-year. "I suggest you watch your tone, Mr Potter, unless you'd like to spend your summer break assisting Mr Filch with his duties."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said, and the apology was sincere. It wasn't Professor McGonagall's fault he was here in an empty castle instead of at home awaiting Hermione's visit. 

"Apology accepted, Mr Potter." She gave him a tight smile and then turned back to Snape. "Severus, is he permitted out-of-doors?"

"As long as he stays on the grounds, I don't see why not," Snape replied, too weary by now to sustain his customary sneer. 

"Good." She turned to Harry. "Hagrid is away on business for the Headmaster, or I'd suggest you pay him a visit. But since it is such a nice day, perhaps you'd like to make use of the Quidditch field. I have every intention of you leading our team to victory this year."

"That sounds great, Professor," Harry said, with the first real enthusiasm he'd felt since he left Sirius's house. 

"Well, thank goodness that's settled," Snape said sarcastically. "I was beginning to fear that the great Harry Potter might actually get _bored_ . Go, Potter." He waved a hand at the door. "Go fly."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He and his Firebolt made straight for the Quidditch pitch, leaving Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape facing one another in the antechamber.

"The Granger girl was supposed to pay him a visit this afternoon. He doesn't know it, but Lupin is going to bring her here. Can you ready her room as well?"

"Her room _is_ ready," McGonagall said. "I only said that to Harry because I…I thought I should have Ron Weasley's bed moved out of his room before he went up there." Her face twisted in a brief spasm of grief, but Snape merely nodded. 

"Fine. Miss Granger should only be here a night or two, and it's possible that Potter will be here a similar length of time. I thought it best to prepare him for the worst, however."

McGonagall closed her eyes. "Will it ever be over for that poor boy?" she murmured, more to herself than to the man in front of her, whom she suspected really didn't care. 

She was surprised when he answered her and further surprised when he did it without a trace of his usual sarcasm. "It will," he said heavily. "The question is only whether it will be a happy ending."

She nodded. "I'll wait and hear about it later, Severus. Right now, you should go to your chambers. You look dreadful."

"Ever tactful, Minerva."

"You're one to talk," she replied tartly.

__________________________________________

Harry spent several hours on his broom and felt considerably better for the experience. His stomach drove him back to the castle, and he peeked into the Great Hall but saw no signs that it was in use as a dining room during the summer break. His things had apparently been moved up to his room, and he wanted to go up and stow his Firebolt, but he hadn't thought to ask Professor McGonagall for the password. 

So he was still clutching his broomstick when he tickled the pear and descended into the kitchens, which were, as always, buzzing with activity. He had no idea why – there were only a handful of faculty members in the castle to cook for – but apparently the house-elves just continued cooking to keep themselves busy. Dobby launched himself at Harry's legs, and it took some time for Harry to disentangle himself. 

"Oh Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby exclaimed, his huge eyes shining and his ears twitching with joy. "Dobby is so very happy to see you back at Hogwarts. But why is the great Harry Potter _here_, sir?

"I'm not sure of that myself, Dobby," Harry said lightly. "Mostly what I'm sure of is that I'm hungry. Can I get something to eat?"

"Oh yes, _sir_, Harry Potter! Right away, sir!" Dobby and the other elves bustled around and soon Harry had a dazzling array of food on the table in front of him. He heaped his plate thinking that this, at least, was one nice thing about being back at Hogwarts. He had never in his life dined in a fine restaurant, but he found it hard to believe that any food on earth was better than this. Certainly Sirius's cooking didn't compare. He ate until he was in pain, and then he pushed his plate away, much to the elves' dismay.

"By the way," Harry said. "Where do they serve meals during the break?

"Well, the professors is usually eating in the staff room," Dobby answered.

"Oh. Thanks." Privately, Harry thought it would have been nice for someone to have told him that. Oh, well. Professor McGonagall _had_ been startled by his appearance. She clearly wasn't used to having to take students into account over the summer. 

He managed to escape the kitchens with only two small bags of food, having assured Dobby that he didn't actually need a whole chicken for an afternoon snack, and he set them down at the foot of the Grand Staircase. He maintained a grip on his Firebolt, not trusting it to the mercies of Peeves, and proceeded down the corridor toward the staff room, hoping he could find Professor McGonagall and get the password for the Fat Lady. He knocked softly at the door, feeling as if he were invading sacred territory, and then pushed it open. Professor McGonagall was indeed there, just finishing her own lunch with Professors Sprout and Flitwick, and from the way they fell silent when he entered, he suspected they had been talking about him. 

"Oh there you are, Mr Potter," she said. "We looked for you when lunch was served. Where have you been?"

"Sorry, Professor. I came in from the Quidditch pitch and couldn't find anyone about. I just went down to the kitchens and let the house-elves feed me."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "How did you…? Never mind. I don't want to know. From now on you may dine in here with us. Dinner is at 5:30 during the break."

"Welcome back to Hogwarts," Professor Sprout said kindly.

"Yes, Mr Potter. Very nice to see you again," Flitwick added.

"Thank you," Harry said, feeling suddenly odd about the intimacy of the situation. One wasn't supposed to see one's teachers over the summer break. One certainly wasn't supposed to dine with them without even having the support of other students. He was glad he had eaten a big lunch; he doubted he'd be comfortable enough to eat much when dinnertime rolled around. 

"Er, Professor?" he asked, looking at McGonagall again. "Could I have the password to the common room? I may go up to my room for a while."

"Of course. It's 'Phoenix feather'."

He gave her a curious look but didn't ask. "Thanks, Professor."

"You're welcome, Mr Potter. I'll see you at dinner if not before."

__________________________________________

Harry trudged up the massive stairway and greeted the Fat Lady politely.

"I heard we were having a summer guest," she said cheerfully. "But I still need the password!"

"Phoenix feather," he responded, and the portrait slid open to reveal the familiar Gryffindor common room. Like everything else in the castle, it seemed depressingly empty without the students, and being there alone gave him a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It just wasn't _right_ . The common room should have books piled on the tables, students trying to sneak a quick snog in the corners, someone playing chess by the fire, Trevor the toad hiding in a corner…but instead, he saw precisely arranged furniture and tables polished to a high sheen. The only movement in the room was the dust motes that twinkled in the ray of sun that streaked through the high windows. 

He had to get out of there. 

He made his way up to the boys' dormitory and into the room he'd occupied for six years. 

The room that now had only four beds. 

For a minute he'd forgotten. Ron's bed had been removed and the others had been rearranged to fill the available space without leaving an obvious hole. His own bed had shifted slightly to the right, closer to where Ron's should have been. 

He tucked his Firebolt under his bed and parted the curtains so he could sit down. He drew his knees to his chest and stared at the spot where Ron's bed should have been, and at that moment his seventh year at Hogwarts seemed as if it would stretch on forever. It _should _have been the happiest year of his life. He was captain of the Quidditch team, Gryffindor had a shot at the House Cup for the seventh year in a row, and with Hermione's help, he would have at least a chance at decent marks on his N.E.W.T.'s. 

And now he couldn't possibly care less. Without Ron there, the trappings of student life at Hogwarts had no meaning for him. He would still enjoy Quidditch, of course, but he wasn't sure he'd care as much about winning without Ron there to celebrate and recap every minute of the match with him. He would still be proud to be a Gryffindor, but he found it hard to worry much about a silly collection of points awarded on an often arbitrary basis – if Snape was anything to go by. Even his N.E.W.T.'s didn't matter much. He wanted to play Quidditch, not work for the Ministry. Quidditch coaches didn't care about tests. Without his best friend, without all the things that had driven him for so long, he felt thoroughly depressed by the thought of the upcoming year. 

Suddenly, 'the boy who lived' wondered what, exactly, he had to live for. He pressed his smooth, unblemished forehead to his knees, and for the first time, the tears made their way to the surface and he cried for all he had lost.

The sobs tore through his body and echoed in the hollow room as he mourned the missing bed and the loyal friendship of the boy who had slept there. The sixth brother, Ron had always fought to stand out in the crowd, to accomplish something significant on his own. He had wanted to matter most to someone - and he had.

He had mattered most to Harry Potter. 


	4. Hermione

Harry woke up feeling as if he were catching a cold. His eyes were swollen, his throat was scratchy, and his head was aching and muzzy. He rolled out of the four-poster bed and staggered to the sink for a glass of water. His reflection was ghastly, and he splashed water on his face, hoping to reduce the evidence of his tears. "Just don't say a word," he muttered to the mirror. 

"You might try a bit more water, my boy," the mirror replied crisply. "You're not quite there yet."

If he'd been allowed to use his wand, he'd have probably destroyed the mirror then and there. As it was, he called it something Hermione would have scolded him for saying and then grabbed some books from his trunk and left the room. As creepy as the empty common-room had been, it was still preferable to remaining in the room he had shared with Ron Weasley.

He was sitting at the table, working on his Transfiguration assignment (since he was feeling considerably more charitable towards McGonagall than he was towards Snape) when the portrait hole slid open and Hermione Granger came through.

"Hi," she said quietly, almost shyly. 

Harry stared. "What are you doing here?"

She raised an eyebrow to great effect but a smile played about her lips as she walked over to him. "You _invited _me, remember? Mr Lupin just brought me from Hogsmeade. Apparently we're to get our visit in here."

Harry, recovered from his surprise, jumped up from his chair, and pulled her into his arms, surprising her in turn. He wasn't typically that demonstrative, but his normal excitement at seeing her was compounded by the knowledge that she would help relieve the oppressive emptiness of the Gryffindor Tower. He knew that she would make him study and would probably want to spend half her visit in her beloved library, but still, the thought of her company raised his spirits considerably. He felt a tremor run through her and released her, searching her face.

"Are you ok?"

She nodded and ran a hand absently through her hair in a gesture he knew well. "Yeah. It's just…being back here. At the end of term there was hardly time to think, you know, and since then…"

"It's really sunk in," Harry finished for her, feeling a moment of perfect empathy between them. He had been so focussed on his own feelings that he hadn't stopped to think that there was one other person who felt very nearly the same way. 

"You've been crying," she said softly, reaching up to touch his face.

He jerked his head away, embarrassed, and couldn't meet her eyes. "They, er, took his bed away," he mumbled, and even though that didn't begin to cover why he'd been crying, she nodded her understanding.

"I've cried off and on all summer," she admitted. "I never know what will set me off. Mum and Dad have been on tiptoes."

"D'you think it ever gets better?"

She shrugged. "I'm still waiting."

He nodded. He was used to Hermione having all the answers – or at least knowing just the right book to find them in. It was an uneasy feeling knowing that she was as lost as he was. There was no book for this.

"So," she said, indicating by her expression and tone that she was changing the subject. "What are you in for?" She gestured around the empty common-room as she dropped into the chair next to the one where he had been working.

"No idea," he said, and he related everything that had happened since Snape had arrived on Sirius's doorstep that morning. "No one will tell me a thing," he finished. "It's like I'm a bloody first year again."

"Hmmm." Her brow crinkled in that way it did when she was presented with a new problem to solve. "Obviously, they think you're in some kind of danger, but that just doesn't make sense, does it? I mean, you defeated Voldemort, Harry. If you could do that, you could do just about anything. Why should you be in such danger?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm not so sure that killing Voldemort wasn't more of a one-time thing. Dumbledore said…." This part was difficult to tell. "He said that I could only summon the power to do it because of my anger over what he did to Ron."

"So if Ron hadn't died, you wouldn't have been able to kill Voldemort," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought of that. But still, Harry, that power exists in you. There are things you haven't learned yet about how to control it, but it's there. Most sixth years couldn't cast Avada Kedavra at all, and you did it without a wand. There probably isn't another wizard in the world who could do that."

"Dumbledore could," Harry said quietly. "He wouldn't, but he could."

"I'm not so sure." Hermione stared into space for a few seconds and then snapped back to herself. "What time is dinner?"

"Five-thirty, McGonagall said."

Hermione glanced at her watch and jumped up. "Good. Then there's just enough time."

"Time for what?" Harry asked warily, recognizing the look on her face.

"A trip to the library, of course." She reached out her hand to pull him out of his chair, and the contact felt so good that he kept her hand clasped firmly in his as they left the common-room together. He and Hermione had attended one ball together, in their fifth year, and they had determined that night that a romance between them would be forever out of the question. He'd had a wonderful time – probably the best time he'd ever had at a ball – because for once he was able to be relaxed and comfortable with his date instead of a mass of sweaty nerves and overactive hormones. He'd never had a proper girlfriend, and that had been the year that he decided he _shouldn't_ have one until the threat of Voldemort no longer hung over his head. So he'd asked Hermione and had even attempted a goodnight kiss that had left them both cracking up. It was another of those moments of perfect understanding, and there had been no question of the kiss being repeated. 

Now, however, he clung to her, and there was nothing of romance about their touch. Had he been inclined toward introspection, he would have realized that he wanted to reassure himself that she was really there, that he had one friend left. He didn't examine his feelings though; he simply held on to her and felt a vague sense of gratitude that she didn't seem to mind, or even really to notice, focussed as she was on the dash to the library.

At the foot of the stairs they skidded to a halt in front of Severus Snape, who had just emerged from the dungeons looking considerably better than he had that morning. He was dressed in his familiar teaching robes and even appeared to have washed his hair. Without the exhaustion that had altered the normal lines of his face earlier in the day, he was able to assume his customary scowl at the sight of the two Gryffindors tearing through the castle.

"In a hurry?" he asked snidely.

"Sorry, Professor," Hermione replied automatically. "We were just going to the library."

"Assuming I'm _allowed_," Harry dared, and Hermione squeezed his hand in silent reproof even before Snape narrowed his black eyes.

"Take care, Mr Potter," Snape warned softly. "That mouth of yours has quite a history of getting you in trouble, and I can assure you that I'm not inclined to suffer your childish fits of pique at the moment."

Harry felt as if the afternoon's tears had dissolved some sort of barrier, and now he was helpless to stop the words that tumbled from his mouth. "What are you going to do, Professor? Give me detention? Take points from Gryffindor? I've got news for you – I. Don't. Care. You're going to have to come up with something a little more creative than that."

"That can be arranged, Mr Potter," Snape replied smoothly, and then he glided away without a backward glance.

Hermione looked at Harry, exasperated. "Why do you _do_ that?" 

Harry shook his head. "I'm just sick of everything," he said wearily. "I'm sick of being treated like a hero one minute and a kid with a snotty nose the next. I'm sick of being kept in the dark until it's convenient to trot me out and stand me up like some sort of human shield against evil. I'm sick of house points and detentions being lorded over me like they actually mattered. Ron's _dead_, Hermione. He's dead and he's never coming back, and I'm supposed to care about points for Gryffindor? Who are they kidding?"

"I know," she said, thinking for the millionth time in their acquaintance that she wouldn't want to be Harry Potter. Ron had envied Harry, she knew. He had loved Harry and he had been a faithful friend, but he had envied Harry his fame and his talent on the Quidditch field. He had envied the attention that Harry despised. Hermione understood Ron well enough to understand the envy, but she didn't share in it. Hermione craved knowledge rather than power, and peace and solitude over fame. She stood by Harry because he was her best friend and she cared about him. She endured her share of the limelight because that was the price of friendship, but she didn't enjoy it. Now she just nodded and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Let's go to the library."

"I wonder how many times you've said that to me over the years?" Harry asked with an unexpected grin.

She giggled. "However many it is, I'm not nearly done yet. We have N.E.W.T.'s this year you know."

Harry groaned and led the way.

__________________________________________

Inside the library, he and Hermione greeted Madam Pince, who, he was convinced, must actually live there among the stacks. She was repairing books, tapping them with her wand and muttering incantations to re-knit loose bindings and remove stains. She smiled on Hermione briefly, gave Harry a slightly curious look, and then went back to her work. 

Hermione was second only to Madam Pince when it came to sheer time spent in the library, and she knew the place with the intimacy of a lover. She made directly for the section she needed, one hand lightly caressing the books by way of greeting on her way down the aisle. "Here we go," she said softly, removing three books from the shelf. "We'll start with these."

"Brilliant," Harry said. "What exactly is it we're starting?"

"We're going to read up on wandless magic – see if we can find out how you did what you did. It might give us some clue as to what's going on now."

Harry was unconvinced, but he thought it sounded marginally better than Mandrakes and mermaid tears, so he nodded and led the way to their favourite table. Hermione handed him one book and kept the other two for herself. She skimmed through the index of the first and then put it to one side. "This one's no good. It just discusses the kind of wandless magic all little kids do for a while when they first start showing signs of their powers. It's much too un-focussed to be helpful."

"Dumbledore told me that I could do wandless magic when I was just a baby," Harry said thoughtfully. "Not the accidental kind of stuff that happened when I was at the Dursleys, but intentional things, like summoning something I wanted from across the room."

"That's amazing." There was a hint of awe in her voice. "I've never heard of anyone who could do that. I wonder why you stopped?"

Harry cast his mind back as far as it would reach. "I think," he said slowly, "that it was literally beaten out of me." Hermione looked horrified, but he went on. "I can remember a few times when I was really little making something happen – like taking a toy away from Dudley – and the Dursleys just went crazy. How weird – I'd totally forgotten. I guess I just learned the hard way not to do things like that, and by the time Hagrid came on my eleventh birthday, I had no idea that I could do magic at all."

"Well, if you could do it as a baby, there's no reason you couldn't do it now," Hermione said briskly, wanting very much to pass over the discussion of his abuse at the Dursleys' hands. "Try to levitate this book." She placed the book in the middle of the table, and Harry stared at it. 

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" 

Nothing. 

__

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Still nothing. "OK, Hermione, I'm feeling like a first-year here," he laughed. "Maybe we'd better see if the other books can help."

She grinned and reached for the next book. "A man after my own heart." 

They found the other two books more promising and both were soon absorbed in their reading. Harry was the first to break the silence. "It's weird, isn't it? Like something out of Trelawney's class. All meditation and inner focus."

"Except unlike anything in Trelawney's class, this should really _work_," Hermione said, with her ever-apparent disdain for Divination.

"But I don't quite get how to do it. Apparently there are no incantations. I'm just supposed to be able to _will _something to happen."

"That's what it sounds like to me, too," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I expect it's just a matter of practice, and if you decide to pursue it, you probably will feel like a first-year for a while. You'll have to re-learn some things."

"I think it's easier just to carry my wand," Harry said. "I mean, why should I care if I can do wandless magic?"

Hermione gave him the pitying look she usually reserved for Neville Longbottom. "Harry, sometimes I just want to shake some sense into you! How much has to happen for you to finally acknowledge that you are not now and _will never be_ a normal wizard? Wandless magic saved your life two months ago and rid the world of Voldemort. It's irresponsible of you to have that kind of power and not know how to control it. What if something happens to make you angry one day, and you just accidentally kill someone? Have you thought of that?"

Harry felt himself go pale. He most certainly had _not _thought of that. As much as he detested the likes of Draco Malfoy, he really didn't want to kill him over a Quidditch foul. 

"And another thing," Hermione went on, clearly warming to her subject. "You're hidden here at Hogwarts for a reason, so apparently the fact that Voldemort is gone doesn't mean that you're out of danger. Wandless magic could save your life again one day."

"OK." Harry held up a hand to stop her tirade. "You've convinced me. Let me try the book again."

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to wipe his mind completely clean. Into the blackness, he imposed the image of the book sitting in the middle of the table. With his eyes still closed, he pictured the book rising into the air. He felt…something…but he was afraid to open his eyes and see if the book was actually rising from the table. It was like lifting weights – his mental muscles began to quiver with exhaustion and he had to break his concentration and catch his breath. He opened his eyes in time to see the book falling to the table with a soft _thunk_.

"_You did it._" Hermione whispered. "It was only a little bit, but you did it."

"It was exhausting," Harry said. "I had no idea it was so much work being a wand."

She laughed. "I expect it'll just take practice. But not today. It's almost time for dinner, and I'm hungry. I've missed the food here."

"I thought the same thing at lunch today," Harry said, tucking the two books under his arm. 

"Where do they serve meals over the break?"

"Staff room," he said, seeing Madam Pince making ready to close up and go to dinner herself. He hurried up to her with the two books. "Can I check these out?"

She looked a bit annoyed, but nodded her permission and tapped each book with her wand. "There. I've made a note of it. See that you get them back before you leave."

"I will." Harry was slightly offended, but he and Hermione waited for Madam Pince to close up the library and walked to the staff room with her. She chatted more pleasantly with Hermione, who was rising Head Girl and a clear favourite among all the staff, with the obvious exception of Professor Snape, who had no favourite Gryffindors.

They entered the staff room to find most of the staff already assembled. They murmured greetings to all and sundry, and Harry moved to sit next to Madam Hooch, who was always game for a rousing Quidditch discussion. Hermione chose a seat across from him next to Professor McGonagall, who seemed a good deal more pleased to see Hermione than she had been to see Harry. Conspicuously absent were Professor Dumbledore, who was still on Ministry business in London, and Professor Snape, who came and went so irregularly during the breaks that neither his presence nor absence was much commented on by his colleagues. Harry, for one, was relieved that Snape wasn't there. 

Professor McGonagall presided over the meal in Dumbledore's absence and made an effort to include the two students in the conversation. Eventually, Harry was successful in introducing the subject of Quidditch, and soon he and Madam Hooch were off, enthusiastically discussing various tactics and making a date for some unofficial coaching the following day. Hermione and Professor McGonagall watched Harry gesture wildly and exchanged a smile. 

At the end of the meal, Professor McGonagall inquired politely as to whether there was anything that either student required to settle in and hinted broadly that she expected them to go directly to Gryffindor tower after dinner and to stay there until morning. 

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said obediently. "We'll be fine."

"See to it." McGonagall's eyes lingered on Harry for a few seconds with a look that was somewhere between suspicion and concern. She had planned to extract more information from Severus Snape, but it appeared that he had left Hogwarts sometime that afternoon. She still had no idea what it was that threatened Harry Potter this time, but she knew enough of the boy's history to know that simply sending him to the Tower was not sufficient to keep him safe. She gave Hermione a long look, silently willing her to keep her friend in line, and Hermione gave her a slight nod in return. McGonagall smiled. "Goodnight then."

Harry and Hermione had started up the stairs when Hermione suddenly stopped and turned around. "Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I know it's during the break, but are we allowed to do magic while we're here?"

McGonagall gave her a tight-lipped smile. "You may, Miss Granger. The Ministry isn't checking for underage magic here at Hogwarts. It is assumed that when you are here you are adequately supervised." 

There was a definite warning implied in the Professor's words, and Hermione nodded her understanding. "Thank you, Professor."

__________________________________________

Hermione gave the password to the Fat Lady and led the way through the portrait hole. "My trunk is up in my room," she said. "I'm going to get my wand and then I'll be right back. Would you like to play chess?"

"Not really," Harry said, thinking of all the times he and Ron had played chess in that room. 

"That's fine. I'll be back in just a minute."

Harry took the opportunity to go to his dormitory and get his own wand; really, it had felt very strange to be walking the halls of the castle without it. On impulse he grabbed his pillow and the duvet from his bed and then he went back to the common-room. Hermione was waiting and had used her wand to light a fire. Even though it was summer, the massive stone castle was draughty and tended to be chilly at night. She sat before the fire with her knees drawn up to her chest and looked up at Harry with a smile as he entered. 

"Good idea," he said, nodding in the direction of the fire. 

"Camping out?" she asked, gesturing to the bedding in his arms.

He dropped it all on the couch. "Yeah. I thought I might just sleep in here."

"I understand." She looked at the fire again and then gave him an impish look. "Wanna see something?"

"Sure."

She pointed her wand at a nearby table. "_Accio_ book." The book soared over to her and she flipped through it until she found the desired page, and then she read intently for a moment, furrowing her brow. 

"Wow!" Harry teased. "Hermione reading! That _is _exciting. Thanks for showing me."

"Shut up, you." She stuck her tongue out at him. "I want to be sure to get this right. It's my own little attempt at wandless magic."

She closed the book and then her eyes, and suddenly where she had been sitting there was a small brown terrier with a quantity of unruly hair. 

Harry's eyes popped, and Hermione sat smugly on her haunches and panted at him. "Bloody brilliant! When did you learn to do _that_?" he exclaimed. "I sure hope you know how to change back."

A second later she proved that she did, though she managed to land hard on her bottom in the process, which made Harry laugh. "I'm still working on my landings," she admitted ruefully. "Sirius makes it look easier than it actually is."

"That's incredible!" Harry enthused. "I had no idea."

"I started working on it last year," she said. "I thought about the Marauders and how they had become Animagi to help Mr Lupin. It occurred to me that I might be able to help you someday if I became an Animagus too. I finally figured it all out right before the end of the term, and of course, I haven't been able to practice over the summer."

"You're incredible," Harry said admiringly. "Can you teach me?"

"Sure. It just takes time and practice. Your Transfiguration marks are good, and that will help loads."

She began explaining the rudiments of the Animagus transformation to him, and from there they passed on to other topics until hours had flown by and they were both stifling yawns. 

"I'd better get to bed," she said regretfully. "This was fun, though."

"It was," Harry agreed, standing up and stretching thoroughly before reaching for his pillow and blanket. "I'm just going to kip here by the fire. Give me a kick when you get up in the morning."

"Will do." She crossed over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "'Night Harry."

He tugged one wild brown curl. "G'night."

He heard her soft steps on the stairs as he made his bed in front of the fire. He was comfortable enough there, and tired despite his nap that day, but sleep eluded him. The Tower still seemed so empty, and he felt terribly alone in the common-room by himself. He stared at the fire, watching it snap and dance and wondering again what it was that had caused him to be sent to Hogwarts. Nothing good came to mind, and he was starting to depress himself when he once again heard Hermione's footsteps on the stairs. He sat up in surprise and blinked at the fuzzy figure standing before him. He reached for his glasses and the world had edges again. He noticed that she was wearing summer pyjamas and holding her pillow and blanket.

"What are you doing here?"

"Couldn't sleep," she said, spreading her blanket beside his and tossing down her pillow. "It's too empty up there." She gave him a shy smile. "Thought we might make it a slumber party."

He nodded. "I couldn't sleep either."

She lay down and wrapped herself in her blanket as he removed his glasses again. 

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Harry."


	5. Don't look now, but there's a girl in yo...

"Well, well, well. Isn't this _cosy_!"

Harry opened his eyes to see a blurry version of his godfather squatting down in front of him with an obnoxious grin. He blinked sleepily a few times before remembering where he was and why. He then became aware of a warm back pressed against his, and he realized why Sirius was grinning.

Had he been feeling more charitable toward Sirius, he might have offered an explanation for the unorthodox sleeping arrangement he and Hermione had adopted, but since he felt Sirius was largely to blame for his exile in Gryffindor Tower _and_ that he was awakening him at what felt like a revoltingly early hour, he refused to dignify Sirius's teasing grin with any kind of a response.

No. On second thought… "_Bugger off_, Sirius."

Sirius threw back his head and laughed, and Harry became aware of the sound of Remus joining in. He sighed and reached for his glasses at the same time that Hermione sat up beside him and winced when she saw that they were surrounded by men – Remus, Sirius and – _please, no!_ – Professor Snape.

Snape wasn't laughing. 

Hermione cut her eyes at Harry, hoping he would receive her silent apology, and then she abandoned him swiftly and mercilessly to the three men. With what little dignity she could muster, she rose, pulling her blanket around her. "I think I'll just go upstairs now."

"An excellent, if somewhat _overdue,_ idea, Miss Granger," Snape said icily, taking obvious pleasure in the fact that she practically fled at his words.

"Aw, lighten up, Snape," Sirius said, still chuckling.

Snape glared at him but didn't answer.

"Would you please tell me what you're all doing here?" Harry snapped. "And then would you _go away_ and let me go back to sleep?"

"I'm afraid not," Sirius answered, and his smile was gone now. He sat down beside Harry's pallet and reached with one hand to smooth his godson's unruly hair in a gesture of paternal affection. "We need to talk to you for a few minutes, Harry, and then Remus and I are going to have to leave. There are some…loose ends we need to track down, and until we do, you're going to have to stay here at Hogwarts."

"What 'loose ends'? What's going on?"

Sirius and Remus exchanged glances, and Harry could tell that they were trying to decide how much to tell him. "Yesterday morning, Snape told us that he'd heard something of a plan to kidnap you," Sirius said carefully. "We're still not completely sure why, or even who's behind it, but last night we met with some men who were able to confirm everything Snape had heard, plus give us some clues as to where we might begin searching. We're going to London to brief Dumbledore, and then we're going to track this bastard down."

Harry felt as if his brain were working in slow motion. Someone wanted to kidnap him? Why? How did Snape find out about it? What would anyone possibly want with him? 

"Why do _you_ have to go?" Harry pulled that question out of the hundred or so that were swimming around in his head. "Why don't you call in the Aurors?"

"We intend to," Remus answered, "as soon as we have enough information. Right now there's just not enough to go on, and the Aurors are busy trying to capture the known Death Eaters who have been active in the last couple of years. So Sirius and I will do the preliminary work, and then we'll call in the Aurors."

"I want to go with you."

"Out of the question," Snape said firmly. "You're safe here at Hogwarts. Headmaster Dumbledore will be back today, and he'll make sure of it. You need to stay out of the way and let us handle this."

Snape's words landed like a splash of petrol on the burning fuse of Harry's temper. "Quit treating me like a bloody kid!" he yelled, not caring in the slightest that Snape was a Hogwarts professor. "Do you know how _sick_ I am of this? How many times do I have to prove that I can take care of myself?"

"You have survived your ill-advised escapades based on good luck and your surprisingly fortunate choice of friends," Snape said, and this time some of the venom was absent from his tone. "You do not yet have sufficient training to pursue this matter on your own, and, frankly, it would not be advisable even if you had. You are the _target_ in this matter, Mr Potter. It would be foolhardy to parade you around in the hopes that the person behind this scheme might reveal himself - though I don't deny the terribly Gryffindor appeal of such a plan."

"I'm afraid I agree with Snape, Harry – except for the part about Gryffindors." Sirius shot Snape a nasty look. "You'll be the best help to us if you stay here and work on your assignments and practice your flying."

Harry glanced at Remus and saw immediately that he was without an ally. He clenched his teeth once and then resigned himself to the situation without further argument. "Fine. I'll stay here and be a good little boy."

"Good." Sirius smiled at his godson, pretending not to notice the sarcasm in Harry's tone. "Come and have a bite with us before we go?"

"Sure. Why not? I'll never get back to sleep now anyway." Harry scrambled up from his makeshift bed and reached for his wand, folding the blanket neatly with one flick of his wrist. He had slept in his jeans and T-shirt from the night before, but he reached for his Hogwarts robes and put them on over, rendering himself neat enough to dine with whatever of the staff was up at such an obscene hour.

"How very disappointing," Snape murmured.

"What?"

"I was so looking forward to seeing Professor McGonagall's face when you went down in your underwear." 

Snape slid through the portrait hole without a backward glance, and Harry looked at Remus, incredulous. "Did Snape just make a _joke_?"

Remus chuckled. "You know, Harry, I believe he did."

__________________________________________

Hermione did not come down to breakfast, and Harry hoped it was because she'd gone back to sleep and not because she was too embarrassed to show her face at the table. He was still annoyed with Sirius on multiple levels, but they managed a fairly pleasant start to the meal nevertheless. Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch were the only staff members at the table besides Professor Snape, who sat to himself at one end and rifled through the _Daily Prophet_ as he ate. Sirius, realizing that Harry was upset, went to great lengths to be jovial, and unlike the previous morning, when he had harped on Harry's neglect of his schoolwork, this morning he devoted to praising Harry's ability on the Quidditch field and bragging that Harry was a sure thing to play for England after finishing at Hogwarts. 

"Do you really plan to try out?" Madam Hooch asked, eyeing him with fresh interest.

"Of course," Harry said. "Right after N.E.W.T.'s."

"We haven't had a professional Quidditch player from Hogwarts since Oliver Wood," Hooch said. "Perhaps we should arrange some extra practices for you this year…make sure you're ready when tryouts roll around. Do you still want to get a practice in today?"

"Of course."

"Good. Be at the field at ten, then, and we'll get started."

Snape had determined, as usual, to ignore his companions at the breakfast table, but he found his resolve sorely tested as the Quidditch conversation went on. "Am I to understand that you are seriously considering playing _Quidditch_ after leaving Hogwarts, Mr Potter?" 

"Of course I'm serious about it," Harry said, looking at Snape in surprise. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"If I were in a position to advise you," his glance flickered to Sirius, "I might suggest that you think through your options a bit more thoroughly before coming to a decision."

"What's wrong with Quidditch?" Sirius asked.

"You and I both know what's wrong with it," Snape answered. "At least where Harry Potter is concerned."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, looking from one man to the other. "Quidditch is the only thing I'm really good at."

"I believe what you mean is that Quidditch is the only thing that comes _easily_," Snape countered.

"Leave him alone, Snape," Sirius said, a clear note of warning in his voice. "He wants to play Quidditch. He _enjoys _playing Quidditch."

Snape felt ready to snap. He wanted to shake the two idiots in front of him, especially Black, who was the boy's godfather and damn well knew better. "He _enjoys_ it," Snape sneered. "And that's enough for you?"

"Why shouldn't it be?" Sirius countered, his countenance darkening.

"You _know _why." Snape's voice was menacing, very nearly a whisper. "The most powerful wizard since Merlin himself should not waste years of his life on a broomstick chasing a little winged ball. The very idea is preposterous. And I should think that anyone in a position of influence over him would tell him that and not encourage him in such frivolous pursuits."

"What are you on about now?" Harry demanded. "Not twenty minutes ago you were telling me that everything I've ever done was dumb luck. Now you're saying I shouldn't waste my _power_ playing Quidditch. Well, I'll tell you something, Professor, I'm not sure this power is everything everybody thinks it is. My grades aren't nearly what Hermione's are."

"And that is entirely due to a lack of application on your part, Mr Potter," McGonagall said dryly. "I'm afraid that I must agree with Professor Snape that Quidditch, while a fine sport, would be something of a waste of your abilities."

"This is really fun, Sirius," Harry muttered under his breath. "Thanks a lot."

Sirius snorted and ruffled Harry's hair again. "Severus," he said, and on his lips the name sounded strange to all of them, "You and I have rarely seen eye to eye on anything before, so I don't know why I think I might be able to convince you in this case, but I want you to know that I do take my job as Harry's godfather very seriously. I know what he's capable of, and I think that in his own time, he'll live up to that potential. But he had a rotten childhood with those hideous relatives of Lily's and then he spent most of his adolescence defending himself from Voldemort. He's finally won that battle, and I think he deserves to have a little fun in his life. There's been precious little of that for him. More to the point, I think that's what James and Lily would have wanted for him, and in the little time I've been able to actually fulfil my role as his godfather, that's always been my benchmark for any decisions I've had to make about Harry. Not _what do I want_, and not even _what does Harry want_, but what would _James and Lily_ have wanted for him. You didn't really know James – and I know you didn't like what you did know – but I really think that James would have wanted Harry to play Quidditch right now. He'd have wanted his kid to have a little fun doing something he enjoys. Remus and I have discussed it, and he agrees with me. I'm curious – what do you think, Minerva?"

Minerva McGonagall compressed her lips for a moment, and they could all see the battle taking place between the antagonistic factions of her mind. Finally, she gave Snape a rare apologetic glance and said, "I agree, Sirius. I think Lily and James would have been proud of their son no matter what he did. They'd have wanted him to be happy first, and if Quidditch was what made him happy, they would have wanted him to play." She looked at Harry. "But Mr Potter, I also want you to remember what Professor Snape said, and if you ever want to discuss some of those other options, I'll be glad to do so. You _are_ a talented Quidditch player, but there's so much more to you than that."

"Er, thanks, Professor." Harry looked back down at his eggs, wishing desperately for a change of subject. This was far more than he had bargained for at seven in the morning.

As usual, Remus, the peacemaker, came to the rescue. "So, Harry," he said. "What do you and Hermione plan to do today?"

Harry shot Remus a look of gratitude and ignored Sirius's quick wink. "You know Hermione," he 

answered. "We'll probably spend half the day in the library."

__________________________________________

Remus and Sirius left just after breakfast. Harry saw them to the front entrance of the castle, and both men pulled him into rough hugs before saying good-bye. 

"Be careful," he cautioned.

"You too," Sirius answered. "Stick close to the castle and for once in your life, follow the rules. I mean it, Harry – I'm worried enough about this thing. I don't need you going off on one of your 'adventures' right now."

"You sound like Snape."

"Well, occasionally the slimy git is actually right," Sirius answered, smiling a little. "At any rate, I think he has your best interests at heart."

"What heart?" Harry retorted, but Sirius just laughed. 

"Say good-bye to Hermione for us and tell her we're sorry if we embarrassed her this morning. Don't know when we'll be back, but we'll owl you as often as we can."

"All right. 'Bye."

Harry stood and watched as the two men walked off towards Hogsmeade, and then he made his way up to the Gryffindor common-room. Hermione was waiting for him, dressed in a summer shorts outfit and sitting at the table with a stack of books in front of her.

"Honestly, Hermione," Harry complained. "It's not even nine in the morning in the middle of summer break."

She shut her book with a smile. "Fine, then. What do you want to do?"

"Did you get any breakfast?"

"No." She giggled. "I could stand a bite of something but I didn't feel up to facing everyone until you had a chance to explain. You _did _explain, right?"

"Not really," Harry said, shrugging. "It never really came up. Sirius did tell me he was sorry if he embarrassed you though." 

She shook her head. "I think Sirius I could have dealt with. It was facing Professor Snape…and in my _pyjamas_!" She shuddered.

"He saw me eating breakfast in my underwear the other day," Harry said. "It's not that big of a deal."

"That is _not _the same thing, Harry."

"Well, maybe not. But he was too busy planning my life at breakfast to give any thought to you _or_ your jammies." He saw her curious look and dismissed it with a wave. "I don't want to talk about it. Or think about it." He glanced down at his robes. "I think I'm going to take a shower and change. Why don't you go get breakfast, and then you can hit the library for a while if you want. Madam Hooch is going to give me some extra coaching at ten. We can meet back up for lunch at noon." 

"Sounds good," she agreed reaching for her wand. "Er, I didn't know I'd be coming here, so I didn't bring any robes," she said. "Do you think I'm all right walking around the castle like this?"

"I think so," Harry said. "I only wore my robes this morning because I'd slept in my clothes. If it'll make you feel better, I'll wear Muggle clothes today too."

"It doesn't matter," she said with a shrug. "If Professor McGonagall says anything, I'll just borrow some of your robes and do an altering charm so they'll fit."

"All right, then. I'll see you for lunch."

__________________________________________

As it turned out, he saw her before lunch, sitting in the grass beside the Quidditch stands with a book in her hand. She waved to him and he darted towards her and hovered a few feet in the air. 

"I decided to read out here," she explained. "It's such a nice day. I don't mean to interrupt though. Go have your lesson."

"Well, it's tempting to stop and study with you," he teased, "but I'd hate to disappoint Madam Hooch."

"Go," she said, waving him off.

He went, soaring high into the air and then hurtling towards the ground at breakneck speed. She cringed and turned back to her book.

She read and glanced at Harry occasionally until a prickle on the back of her neck made her turn around. Professor Snape was approaching, his eyes toward the sky and its lone Quidditch player.

She stood up and dusted herself off, feeling absurdly grateful that she happened to be studying next year's Potions text. "Good morning, Professor."

"Miss Granger," he returned. "You're looking rather better than when I saw you last."

"Well, I wasn't exactly expecting a room full of visitors this morning, now was I?"

"Clearly not. However, I might point out that as Head Girl you have a private room which will, should you use it, afford just that – privacy."

"Thank you, Professor," she said, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm out of her voice. "I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do." He squinted up at Harry another moment and then said, "Are you actually reading that book, Miss Granger, or are you simply working on your suntan?"

"I find that it is quite possible to do both, Professor. I had just completed the chapter on Advanced Healing Potions when you arrived."

"And what were your thoughts on that chapter, Miss Granger?" 

"Honestly?" she said. "My first thought was that they are very complicated, and my second thought was, '_Poor Neville_.'" 

He looked at her sharply then, and she could have sworn she saw his lips twitch. "Indeed," he said. "Astute observations both, if not precisely the answer I was looking for."

"Actually," she said, relaxing a bit in light of his response, "I was curious as to whether you make all of these for Madam Pomfrey on demand. It seems that it would be quite time-consuming. The curative for migraines, for instance. I should think there would be a fairly ongoing need to have some on hand, but each batch takes several weeks to brew and then keeps for only five days."

"Most of Madam Pomfrey's medicinal stores come from commercial potion brewers," he answered. "I brew advanced potions for her only occasionally because of the very constraints you mentioned. Some of the simpler potions I allow particularly competent students to brew – under my supervision, of course."

"I know," she said dryly. "I had detention with you twice last year, remember?"

"So you did," he acknowledged, without the faintest hint of apology – and indeed, she expected none. "The commercial potion brewers are working towards better ways of preserving medicinal potions. It is one area in which the Muggles are ahead of us, I'm afraid, but the preservatives used by Muggles have proven utterly useless in the wizarding world. So until then, advanced potions will remain expensive, though most are not difficult to obtain. Should Madam Pomfrey require a potion to treat migraines, she would simply order it over the Floo. It would arrive in a matter of minutes."

"That makes sense. With the students so dependent on owl post, I forget that the staff have faster ways of communicating with the outside world."

Snape nodded and paused for a moment to see if any more questions about the Potions text were forthcoming. She could have kept peppering away at him for hours, of course, but six years of scathing reproofs to her intellectual curiosity had done their work only too well, and instead she fell silent. Snape changed the subject. "When Potter comes back down to earth, please tell him that the Headmaster has returned and would like to have lunch with him alone in his office. Twelve o'clock. The password is," he winced slightly, "tootsie roll."

"Yes, sir."

"Enjoy your morning, Miss Granger."

__________________________________________

On the walk back up to the castle, she apprised Harry of his luncheon with Dumbledore and he told her the precious little he knew of the plot to kidnap him and explained that Remus and Sirius had already left to try to find out more. 

"I don't like it," Harry said. "Remus promised they'd call in the Aurors, but I don't believe that for a minute. They think _I'm_ impulsive; I'm nothing to Sirius."

Privately, Hermione agreed, but she made some obligatory sounds of reassurance before getting back to the problem at hand. "I just wish we knew _why_," she said. "I can see why someone might want to kill you…sorry," she added, seeing the look on his face. "You know what I mean, though: Revenge for killing Voldemort and depriving the vermin of their precious Dark Lord. But why would they kidnap you?"

"Maybe Sirius has a pile of money somewhere that I don't know about," Harry said thoughtfully. "I mean, he doesn't actually _work_ , does he? And yet he seems to get on all right." 

Hermione gave that theory a moment's consideration but then dismissed it with a wave. "Somehow I doubt it will turn out to be anything quite so prosaic. Given that it's _you_ and all."

"Thanks," he said sarcastically. 

"You'd better hurry," she said, as they gained the castle entrance. "You don't want to be late. I'll catch up with you after lunch."

__________________________________________

Harry felt little nervousness as he knocked at the Headmaster's door. He had spent considerably more time in that office than most Hogwarts students, and with a couple of notable exceptions, the visits had been much in his favour. Since his conscience was clean at the moment, he had no fear of dining alone with Dumbledore and, in fact, had every hope that Dumbledore would be able to enlighten him on what exactly it was that Sirius and Remus were doing. Still, he looked down at his slightly rumpled T-shirt and shorts and the broomstick still in his hand and wished that he'd known of his lunch appointment ahead of time so that he might have made himself more presentable. 

Sure enough, when Dumbledore opened the door, the contrast between the two wizards was dramatic. Dumbledore's long silver hair made an elegant contrast against the deep purple of his robes whilst Harry's hair, as always, stood out in every direction on his head. Dumbledore had the appearance of a sage who had spent his morning contemplating profundities, and Harry looked like exactly what he was - a kid who'd spent his morning on a broomstick. 

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Come in, please."

"Thank you, sir." Harry stepped through the doorway and set his Firebolt to one side before venturing further in. A table had been set for two in one corner of the room, and Dumbledore gestured him over to it. "I'm sorry…I didn't have time to change."

"No apology necessary, Harry. You're still on your summer break, despite your change of venue. I want you to enjoy yourself as much as possible while you're here. It is not necessary for you to dress like a student."

Harry might have looked a little doubtful because Dumbledore went on. "I would like to extend Miss Granger an invitation to stay on as well, if that is something she would like to do. Perhaps with her company your time here won't be so lonely."

Harry smiled. "That would be great, Professor. It'll be much more fun with Hermione here – and with her around, there won't be any chance of me not getting my summer assignments done."

"I expect you're quite right about that." Dumbledore chuckled and then quickly grew serious. "There is a minor administrative point we need to clear up, however." He looked at Harry over the rims of his glasses.

"Sir?"

"If Miss Granger agrees to stay on, I'm afraid I shall have to insist that she make use of her own sleeping quarters," the Headmaster said firmly, and Harry felt his face grow hot. "You may, if you choose, continue sleeping in the common-room. I understand why your own room might be uncomfortable for you right now. Perhaps when the rest of your house-mates return it will be somewhat easier."

"Thank you, sir," Harry mumbled. "But Hermione and I…we weren't…"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Explanations are unnecessary, Harry, as long as we are clear on the future arrangement." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good. Now then, I find that I'm rather hungry after my travels. Shall we go ahead and eat?" 

Harry nodded and Dumbledore clapped his hands twice, causing the plates to fill with food.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Harry."

"Can I ask how you did that? Without a wand, I mean?"

Dumbledore gave Harry an appraising look. "I wondered when you'd ask about that."

"Actually, Hermione is the one who…well, she suggested that I should learn more about it," Harry admitted.

"Good girl," Dumbledore said approvingly. "I've always been able to do it, Harry, just as you have. It's easier to do it than to explain how it's done, however, and unlike you, I had the good fortune to be raised in a wizarding family where my abilities were fostered rather than repressed."

"Hermione said that it would be irresponsible of me not to learn how to control it," Harry said. "Do you think that's true?"

"I do," Dumbledore agreed. "It is one of the things I wanted to discuss with you today, actually. I'd like you to consider doing an independent study this year – one that would focus on your individual abilities. You will continue to be welcome here at Hogwarts, Harry, and you will always have an open invitation to come to me for advice and counsel, but I am most aware that you have only one more year of formal training within these walls. I do not wish to send you out into the world unprepared, and it would be irresponsible of both of us to acknowledge your considerable power and then to allow that power to remain…unharnessed. Do you understand?"

"I think so, sir." Harry reached for his goblet of pumpkin juice and took a sip. "Would I work with you?"

"Some, perhaps, but not exclusively. You would probably work with several of the professors here, particularly Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, but I would like to ask Professor Snape to oversee your studies."

"Professor _Snape_! Why him?"

Dumbledore peered across the table over his glasses again, and Harry fought the urge to squirm. "I have my reasons, Harry. I believe that in time they will become apparent to you."

Harry knew from Dumbledore's tone and demeanour that he'd gotten all the answer he was going to get, and his dread of the upcoming school year increased exponentially. He dared not express his feelings, however, and so he turned his attention to his plate and began picking unenthusiastically at the delicious food. The thought of a yearlong independent study with _Snape_ was enough to spoil his appetite permanently, he thought sourly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "It will be fine, Harry, I promise. If you and Professor Snape have problems, come to me and we'll work them out together."

"I'll probably be too busy with detention, sir." 

Dumbledore's chuckle became an outright laugh, and Harry risked a glare at the Headmaster. It was fine for _him_ to laugh – he wasn't the one who was going to spend the entire year cleaning out bedpans in the hospital wing.

Dumbledore didn't miss the glare; Dumbledore didn't miss anything, ever, but he had the grace to ignore it and change the subject to one that was only slightly less disturbing. "I spoke at length with Sirius and Remus in London this morning. I was most displeased at the news they brought, but I think that they and Professor Snape have proceeded wisely in this matter, and with any luck at all, it will be concluded in time for you to enjoy a fairly normal school year."

Harry nodded because it seemed to be expected of him, but he held out little hope for 'normalcy.' Normal, for him, was battling Voldemort once a year with his two best friends by his side. Not much chance of that happening this year, and with Ron gone he found he didn't much care what happened one way or another.

Dumbledore continued. "Your godfather told me how…displeased you were that they were taking the initiative in this matter and leaving you behind."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "They're treating me like a kid."

Dumbledore smiled and spoke gently. "You are an adolescent, Harry – neither child nor yet adult, but somewhere in between. Every adolescent struggles with the feelings you have right now, but in your case, the consequences of allowing you to assume too much responsibility too soon are much greater. In a year, you will have finished here, and we will all treat you as an adult. I will be very much surprised if you don't then occasionally yearn for the days when we made some of your decisions for you. With great power comes great responsibility, and yours will not be an easy life, Harry."

__

When has it ever been? Harry thought, but he didn't say it out loud, nor did he mention his intention to forget about being "the boy who lived" and be a Quidditch star instead. The morning's Quidditch discussion was all too fresh in his mind, and he thought that on the whole he'd rather not know where the Headmaster stood on that particular plan. He simply nodded again, and the Headmaster let the subject drop and moved onto other, more pleasant topics until their luncheon was concluded.

__________________________________________

Harry found Hermione in the library after his lunch with Dumbledore, and after he had related all that had happened in the Headmaster's office, she badgered him into spending several hours on his Potions assignments while she drafted an owl to her parents, asking them for permission to stay on until the beginning of term.

"They'll be a bit disappointed," she said, "but I think they'll understand. This is the part of the summer we normally all spent at the Burrow, remember? Somehow, I'd rather be here at Hogwarts than home thinking about that."

Harry nodded. "D'you hear anything from Ginny?"

"We've owled a couple of times. Things are still pretty bad there, she says. Her mum…well, I think Ginny will be glad to get back to school too. What about you? Have you talked to the Weasley's at all?"

"Just right at first," Harry said. "Mr Weasley came to Hogsmeade right after I went to live with Sirius. We talked a bit and I told him what had happened. He said over and over that they didn't blame me at all, but…"

"But what?" Hermione reached for his hand, and he squeezed hers gratefully.

"How could they not?" Harry said in a rush. "I mean, I know they realize that I'd have done anything to keep it from happening, but how could they not wish, deep down, that Ron had just sat somewhere else that first day on the Hogwarts Express? That he had become best mates with Dean and Seamus instead?"

"Life just doesn't work that way, Harry. And Mr and Mrs Weasley have always loved you like one of their own boys. You know that."

Harry shrugged, not really convinced, and Hermione squeezed his hand again. "Stop it, Harry," she said softly. "Don't do this to yourself."

He nodded. "Back to Potions then."

"Back to Potions."


	6. The Godfather

Hermione's parents owled back the next day, giving her their permission to stay on at Hogwarts until the term began. She and Harry were both pleased, and they quickly settled into such a comfortable routine that they were somewhat loath for all the students to return and interfere with it. After breakfast every morning, Hermione went to the library whilst Harry went to the Quidditch field. Often, as she had that first day, Hermione took her books out-of-doors, and soon both she and Harry were brown from their time in the sun. After lunch, they frequently walked with Hagrid back to his cabin and spent some time with him, sometimes assisting him with the creatures under his care and other times just sitting together and talking. They knew that many members of the staff were grieving with them over Ron's death, but Hagrid was a real friend and was more open with his sadness, comforting them and allowing them to comfort him in return. In the afternoons, Hermione played the role of the stern task mistress, bullying Harry into completing his summer assignments and, when those were done, working with him on learning more about wandless magic and beginning to teach him what he would need to know for the Animagus transformation. As a compromise, Harry insisted that they not study at all after dinner, and those hours were given over to long games of chess, since they were more equally matched than either of them had been with Ron, and simply talking. When the time came to turn in, Hermione went obediently to her room and Harry made his pallet on the floor, sleeping comfortably in front of the dwindling fire. He had moved his trunk down to the common-room and had begun to think of the space as his alone. Hermione teased him about how annoyed he would be when it was littered with chattering first and second-years. 

"Were we ever that young?" Harry asked, staring at the chessboard as he pondered his next move.

"I'm afraid we were," she said with a grimace. "I, for one, was all buck teeth and bushy hair."

"And the worst kind of know-it-all," he added.

"Thanks loads." She wrinkled her nose at him. "So are you going to make a move?"

"If you'd be quiet for two seconds so I could concentrate."

"Pardon me, Mr Potter," she said, affecting a wounded tone, but then she subsided into silence and let him focus on the board. 

They both looked up, startled, when they heard the portrait hole slide open. They really had gotten used to this being their own space, and since the morning Remus and Sirius had left two weeks ago, no one else had entered the common-room. Minerva McGonagall stepped through the opening, and the moment they saw her face they knew that something was very wrong.

"What is it?" Harry asked, standing up.

"You're needed in the hospital wing, Mr Potter," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Immediately, please."

"Professor?" Harry reached automatically for Hermione's hand, and she clasped it tightly and began to lead him toward McGonagall.

"It's your godfather, Mr Potter."

Harry felt Hermione's hand tighten momentarily on his own, and he steeled his face lest it betray him completely by crumpling.

"What happened?" he asked, as they left the common-room and headed down the corridor at a fast clip.

"I'm not entirely sure," she managed. "Remus just brought him here. Madam Pomfrey is examining him now."

"It'll be all right, Harry," Hermione said softly. "You've seen the amazing things Madam Pomfrey can do."

Harry nodded and walked faster. By the time he reached the corridor to the hospital wing, he had left the women behind and broken into a run. He burst into the infirmary, panting for breath, and was rewarded with a glare from Poppy Pomfrey, which softened when she saw Harry's distraught face. 

"Is he all right? Where is he? Why aren't you helping him?" The questions tumbled from Harry's mouth.

"What's the situation, Poppy?" Professor McGonagall asked, entering breathlessly with Hermione.

"I'm not sure," the nurse admitted. "He appears to have been…burned, but I've done everything I know to do for him, and nothing is helping. I think this may be…more Severus's area than mine. He's examining him now."

McGonagall's eyes closed for a moment as she realized the implications of what Madam Pomfrey had said.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, looking from Pomfrey to McGonagall.

"I believe Madam Pomfrey is suggesting that your godfather has been poisoned," Professor McGonagall said, "and if it's nothing she is able to recognize and treat, then that means…"

"Dark Magic." Harry's voice was flat. "Can Snape help him?"

"We'll soon know," McGonagall said, for once too distracted to correct Harry's method of address.

"The Headmaster and Remus Lupin are in there with Severus," Madam Pomfrey said. "I'll ask Professor Dumbledore if Mr Potter is allowed to go in."

She slipped through the door and returned almost immediately to gesture Harry through. Hermione followed, despite not having received a specific invitation. They saw Sirius Black in a hospital bed with Remus on one side and Dumbledore and Snape on the other. Sirius's face and hands – all the exposed skin they could see – were a violent shade of shiny pink with weeping blisters, and his hair, normally smooth and silky flat against his head, had begun to frizz into brittle kinks.

"Sirius?" Harry said, approaching the bed cautiously. And then, to Dumbledore, "Can he hear me?"

"I'm not sure," Dumbledore said quietly. "He's been drifting in and out of consciousness. Poppy gave him everything she could for the pain, but it doesn't seem to be enough."

Harry reached out to touch his hand, and Snape called out, "Don't!"

"Why not? What is this? Is it contagious?"

A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw and for long seconds he didn't answer. "It's not contagious, but you can't touch him. He'll burn you."

"So you know what it is." Dumbledore looked at Severus Snape with probing eyes.

"Yes."

"Well then cure him!" Harry yelled. "Brew an antidote."

Remus Lupin had said nothing up to this point, but his eyes now focused on Severus Snape with their first glimmer of hope. "Severus, please," he said in a low voice. "Is there something you can do?"

"I can't," Snape said softly, and then, clearing his throat and forcing the strength back into his voice, he added, "There isn't time. The antidote takes a week – even if we could get our hands on everything we needed, which we probably couldn't. He won't…" he looked away from Harry, away from Remus, and focussed on the man on the bed. "He won't make it 'till morning." He glanced at Remus then. "I'm sorry."

Harry took a step backward, and Madam Pomfrey pushed a chair gently behind his knees. He fell into it, trying to process the fact that Sirius was actually _dying_ right there in front of him. "What is it?" he asked, finally.

"An incendiary potion that was developed by the Death Eaters many years ago. It causes the body temperature to increase steadily from the outside in until the patient literally burns to death. He's already too hot to touch. Within a few hours he'll be in multiple organ failure."

Dumbledore bowed his head in obvious sorrow and the tears coursed unchecked down Remus Lupin's cheeks, but anger blazed in Harry's green eyes. "Did you do this?" he asked Snape, gesturing toward the bed.

Snape recoiled, obviously stunned. "Of course not," he snapped. "How dare you ask me such a thing?"

"I mean the potion," Harry said, standing up and approaching Snape. "Did you develop the potion that's killing my godfather?"

"No," Snape said coldly. "I did not. In fact, I thought I had destroyed it all in the days just after Voldemort's defeat. I did not expect to ever look on these particular symptoms again."

"I'm sorry," Harry sagged back into his chair and Hermione went and knelt beside him, reaching for his hand. "I'm sorry, Professor."

Snape nodded and looked again at the man in the bed. His enemy for so many years, there had been times when Snape might actually have wished for Black a death just such as this. But not now. Now he felt…_fury _at the senselessness of it. He had learned to tolerate Black but never to like him, and now it didn't matter. Despite his offensive qualities, the room was filled with people who loved Sirius Black – the godson who had so recently gotten the chance to know him, the friend who had loved him like a brother since childhood, and Dumbledore, who had watched him grow up and then guided him in the long battle against Voldemort. A dark night stretched ahead for them all.

"Snape." Sirius's voice rasped from the bed and Snape felt a jolt of surprise. Of all the people in the room, he would have expected his to be the last name on Black's lips. He shot a look at Dumbledore, who gave him a nod of reassurance, and then he cautiously approached the bed.

"I'm here, Black." Snape made sure to place himself in Black's field of vision, knowing that any movement would be torturously painful. 

"My robes…coin…Harry." Sirius's voice was weak but his eyes bore into Snape's and they were clear, unclouded by delirium. Harry jumped from the chair at the sound of his name and went to stand at Snape's side. Dumbledore reached for the robes Madam Pomfrey had removed from the patient and began going through the pockets.

"Sirius," Harry choked out, and Sirius's eyes slid from Snape to his godson.

"Harry," he whispered. "So sorry."

Harry knelt down at the bedside, wishing he could take Sirius's hand. "You don't have anything to be sorry about."

"Can't…finish my job," Sirius said, and his voice was becoming weaker. "_Snape_," he said insistently. "Lily and James…what they would have wanted. Give Snape the coin."

"I have it right here, Sirius," Dumbledore said, approaching the bedside with a gold coin between his forefinger and thumb. "Do you want me to give it to Severus? Are you sure?"

"Yes," Sirius whispered. "Now. Do it now."

Snape looked utterly bewildered, but he held out his hand for the coin Dumbledore held, since Black so obviously wanted him to have it. He felt a strange tingling sensation in his palm followed by a warmth that spread through his hand and up his arm. He looked at Dumbledore in surprise. "What is it?" he asked.

"I believe that you've just been made Harry's godfather," Dumbledore said quietly, still looking at Sirius, who nodded briefly and then closed his eyes. 

Harry stared at Snape, who clutched the coin in his hand and stared right back at him. 

"Albus?" Snape said, and there was an edge of panic in his normally smooth voice.

"Perhaps that discussion should wait until later," Dumbledore answered, nodding at the bed. "We have more immediate concerns right now. Do you know of any way we can make him more comfortable?"

Snape nodded and reached for his wand and then cast an uneasy glance at Hermione. "Mr Potter, please escort Miss Granger to the antechamber."

"Why? What are you going to do to him?" Harry asked suspiciously. 

Snape fixed him with a cold glare. "I am going to undress him, Mr Potter, and then I'm going to cast a hovering charm. _Go_."

"I'll go with you, Harry," Remus said gently, rising from his chair and placing an arm around Harry's shoulders to guide him out of the room. 

To their surprise, Dumbledore rose and followed them, murmuring, "I think I'll leave you to it, Severus."

__________________________________________

The small group sat quietly in the infirmary's antechamber, waiting for the end in a haze of grief. Minutes gave way to hours, and Remus kept an arm around Harry, supporting and drawing support. Harry leaned into the older man's embrace, feeling the soft cotton of Remus's summer robes beneath his cheek and finding some comfort in the spicy smell of his shaving potion. "He's the last of the Marauders," Harry thought. "He's barely middle-aged, and he's outlived all his friends – all thanks to Voldemort and the scum that bowed down to him."

And then he had to know. He looked at Dumbledore. "Who did this, sir? What happened?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm still trying to piece it together. As I understand it, he was having dinner at the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for you, Remus – is that correct?"

Remus nodded. "We split up yesterday to cover more ground. He was tailing…well, it doesn't matter who, but we'd agreed to meet back at the Leaky Cauldron last night to exchange information. By the time I got there, he said he felt like he was getting a fever and suggested we get rooms for the night. We were on our way up the stairs when the pain got bad enough that he knew it wasn't just a fever. He was able to Apparate with me to the edge of the Forest, and then he lost consciousness."

"I'm going to find whoever did this," Harry promised. 

"I have every hope that we will find the person or persons responsible," Dumbledore said, putting very slight emphasis on the word _we_, "and see them taken to Azkaban."

Harry's jaw clenched. "Sir, if I find them, they're not going to make it to Azkaban."

"Which is just one reason you're going to stay at Hogwarts, where you belong, and leave this to the Aurors," Snape said quietly from the doorway. 

"Like hell I am," Harry said, standing up and shaking off Remus's calming hand. "You can't tell me what to do." He looked around the room. "None of you can. It's between terms. I'm not a student here right now and I'm not a prisoner. I'm Harry Potter and some son-of-a-bitch has killed my godfather. I want to know why, and I want that man _dead_."

"Harry," Remus said. "_Think_. Would Sirius want you spending years in Azkaban for casting an Unforgivable to avenge his death? I can assure you that he would not."

Hermione crossed over to Harry and put her arms around him. "Please, Harry," she pleaded. "I can't lose you, too. Please listen to them."

Her soft words succeeded where others had not, and he felt the tight knot of anger begin to relax a little. He clung to her and though he trembled, his body refused to cooperate and cry. It was more real somehow than Ron's death had been in the first hours, but his primary emotion was anger. 

Remus sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Severus…?" His glance flickered to the open doorway.

"It's over."

Remus nodded, and Dumbledore reached over and gripped his arm. "I'm sorry, Remus…Harry. He was a fine man. We _will_ find out who did this. "

Severus Snape fingered the coin Black had given him. It was simple enough, with a Gryffindor lion on one side and the initials HJP engraved on the other. It had obviously been charmed – the sensation when he first held it in his hand had told him that – and there could be no doubt that Black had really meant for him to have it. But why? Why him? Why not Lupin or Dumbledore? Black's words at the breakfast table came back to him suddenly – _"not what do I want, or even what does Harry want, but what would Lily and James have wanted." _He had used those same words tonight. "what Lily and James would have wanted." But why? He had hated James Potter, and the feelings had been mutual. He and Lily had been casual friends, yes, but she had been much closer to Lupin. He wondered what Lupin thought about Black's decision. He wondered what Potter thought. He knew what _he_ thought. Though he didn't hate Harry with the same vehemence he had Harry's father, he certainly didn't like him either, and he had no interest in spending any time with him that wasn't specifically required by his teaching contract. Harry Potter was someone to be endured, not enjoyed, and even if that hadn't been the case, Severus Snape had no interest, no _business_, being anyone's godfather. The very suggestion was preposterous. He glanced at Dumbledore, wondering if he could simply hand Lupin the coin and pass the responsibility on to him. It would be the best solution for them all, he thought. The Headmaster shook his head, reading Snape's mind, as always.

"He chose you, Severus. I do not think it was a decision he made lightly."

Harry looked up. "Do I have a choice in this?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not really, Harry. Severus Snape is now your godfather. Your relationship with him is up to you – and him – but he will remain your godfather."

"So I just get passed from one person to another, just like that," Harry said coldly. "Well, I'm sick of it. I don't want him to be my godfather. I don't want _anyone _to be my godfather." He looked at Snape. "Destroy that stupid coin and _leave me alone_."

"Harry," Hermione said, glancing from him to Snape, whose face was arranged in its familiar cold mask. 

"I mean it, Hermione," Harry stood up, shaking with fury, his words drenched in anger. "_You_ leave me alone, too. I don't need you. I'm the most powerful wizard in the world, remember? I don't need anybody." He opened the door and looked at Snape again. "You're _not _my godfather. My godfather is in there – dead. All of you just leave me alone."

Remus made to go after him, but Dumbledore stopped him. "I think he needs a little time, Remus."

Remus nodded and looked at Hermione, whose eyes had filled with tears at Harry's words. "He didn't mean that, you know."

She nodded miserably. "I know."

Remus looked at Dumbledore. "Albus, I have some…arrangements to make. I'll try to be here for lunch tomorrow though. Please tell Harry I'll see him then."

"Certainly, Remus."

"Severus, thank you for your help tonight."

Snape nodded once and then held up the coin between two fingers. "Why?"

Remus answered thoughtfully. "I think he knew he didn't need to ask me, Severus. Harry already has my love and support and will never be without it as long as I live. Obviously, Sirius saw some…qualities in you that he thought would be helpful to Harry. You have proven repeatedly your dedication to keeping him safe, even if your methods have occasionally been other than I might have chosen."

Dumbledore spoke up. "Perhaps, Severus, as you and Harry become better acquainted, it will become apparent why Sirius made the choice he did."

Snape was aware of the broad hint in the Headmaster's words, but privately thought that they were all destined for enormous disappointment if they imagined for one minute that he was going to go home and start knitting little things just because Sirius Black had made a final disastrous decision in a life which had been – to be brutally frank – rife with such. 

__

No. 

He tucked the coin in his pocket and determined that he and Harry Potter would remain what they had always been to one another. Mutual antipathy had worked quite nicely for them for years now, and there was no reason why a coin given to him by a dying madman should change that. He and Potter would _not_ be getting "better acquainted." He was accustomed to following Albus's _recommendations_ without question, but this lay far outside the boundaries of his indentured servitude. He had risked his life for Albus and had done so without question. He would not now pollute what was left of that life with Harry Potter.

He would not.


	7. Catching the Floo

Harry realized as he climbed the stairs to Gryffindor tower how lucky he had been in the first days after Ron's death. There was a haze of unreality about that time; it was as if he'd been drugged, and he still couldn't recall it with any sort of clarity. He knew only that it had been several weeks later, after the blur of finals and the Leaving Feast, when he was finally home with Sirius for the first time ever, that the reality of Ron's death had begun to settle over him like a disease. He had battled one symptom after another ever since, but it had all come to him in stages – it was merciful, really. He didn't know why Sirius's death was slamming into him with so much greater force. Perhaps it was that it had been so much less clean, so much more painful, and he had been forced to witness the suffering with his own eyes. And perhaps it was that he had been lulled into a false sense of security after Voldemort's demise. He had naively expected some sort of happily-ever-after.

It would never come, Harry realized now. Dumbledore had been right – he was destined for a difficult life and happily-ever-after would never be one of his options. Nor would it be an option for anyone close to him.

His mind was made up by the time he reached the Fat Lady. He offered the password and entered the common-room with his wand already out. In seconds he had packed most of what he owned in his trunk and filled a small knapsack with a change of clothing, his treasured invisibility cloak, what little money he had on hand, and the books on wandless magic that he had borrowed from the library. Madam Pince never once crossed his mind. He went to the table where he and Hermione had been working and reached for a piece of parchment and a quill.

__

Hermione,

I have to leave now, and I don't know that I'll be seeing you again. Thank you for everything – and I hope you know what I mean by that because there's so much that it would take me way more time than I have to write it all down. Take care of yourself, and please look after Hedwig for me. 

I love you,

Harry

He rolled it, sealed it, and left it by her books, and then he grabbed his knapsack and his Firebolt and left the common-room without looking back. There was no time for sentimentality. The others would be leaving the infirmary soon if they hadn't already, and he had to leave the castle before they saw him. He considered taking the hidden passageway to Honeydukes, but since it was still dark outside, he decided to risk one last ride on his Firebolt. It would be much faster, anyway.

Harry knew that he had little gift for strategy. That had always been Hermione's contribution to their efforts. He and Ron were the impulsive ones; Hermione was the one who pulled them back, enjoined them with rolled eyes and sighs of exasperation to _think_ before they acted. He had no doubt that his plan – such as it was – would have been far better executed with Hermione's intellect to balance out his passion, but there could be no possibility of asking for her help. His parents, Cedric, Ron, and now Sirius were all dead because of _him_. He would not endanger Hermione further by calling on her now. So he mounted his broom and streaked across the darkened grounds, slipping through the Hogwarts gate and then making for Sirius's house in Hogsmeade. Once inside, he stared at the fireplace for a moment and then closed his eyes, concentrating. He opened his eyes with a smile when he heard a crackle; sure enough, a fire was burning – small, but sufficient for his purposes. He blessed Hermione, tossed in a pinch of Floo powder, stepped in and said, "The Leaky Cauldron" in a clear voice.

______________________________________________

Hermione had never seen the Headmaster look so dreadfully grave. Dawn had not yet broken, but the entire staff was sitting around the table in the staff room, passing Harry's farewell note from one person to the next.

"It appears that I was mistaken in allowing Harry to leave the infirmary alone," Dumbledore said heavily, leaving unspoken the fact that mistakes on his part were rare indeed. "I thought he needed a little space, some time to grieve. I did not anticipate this."

"_This_," Snape said icily, "is classic Harry Potter behaviour, Headmaster. Taking off on his own without a thought of…"

"That will do, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted sharply, stopping Snape with one level glance. "What matters now is that we find him, and quickly. If what Remus and Sirius found out is true, Harry is in considerable danger."

"I, for one, will do anything I can to help, Headmaster," Minerva McGonagall said, casting an accusatory look at Snape. 

"Thank you, Minerva, but I think this is a job that requires Severus's particular skills." He glanced at Snape, who was looking positively murderous. "If you haven't found him by Friday, after the full moon, I'm sure Remus will assist you. Until then, I will contact the Improper Use of Magic office and have a trace put on his wand. It should make your job easier."

Hermione, looking at Snape, thought that Harry might well be better off in the hands of the mysterious kidnappers. She took a deep breath, "Sir?"

"Yes, Miss Granger."

"Over the last few weeks, Harry and I have been reading up on wandless magic. He's been practicing some and has been improving. We were doing simple spells – nothing terribly difficult – but I noticed he took the books with him, and I just wonder if maybe putting a trace on his wand won't be enough. Can wandless magic be traced?"

Dumbledore shook his head and looked, if possible, even more worried. "No, Miss Granger, it cannot. There simply aren't enough wizards and witches consistently capable of it to make it worthwhile for the Ministry to spend time finding ways to track it. It's one reason Sirius, James, and Peter were able to become unregistered Animagi without being caught. It is also why potions are often used for Dark Magic. The Ministry can't trace the brewer. If Harry avoids using his wand, he could indeed prove more difficult to find."

"I want to help."

Dumbledore was shaking his head before the words had even left her mouth. "No, my dear. This is not a job for students. I would like for you to return to your parents for the remainder of the summer break. I promise I will owl you the minute we find him."

Hermione was glad that he hadn't said '_if_ we find him.' Over the years, she had grown accustomed to believing that Dumbledore was infallible, and some childish part of her brain clung to that belief, despite the fact that the events of recent months had taught her otherwise. Bad things could and did happen, even with Albus Dumbledore in the world, but she preferred not to think about that right now. "Yes, sir," she said obediently. 

"Minerva, will you escort Miss Granger up to my office? She can make use of my private Floo."

"Certainly, Headmaster." Professor McGonagall pushed back her chair, and Hermione followed suit, nodding politely to the other staff members and pausing a moment to hug Hagrid, who had been wiping tears away with his massive hands. 

"We'll find him, 'Mione," Hagrid said in a gruff voice. "You c'n count on Dumbledore. Great man, Dumbledore."

"I know," she whispered.

______________________________________________

Professor McGonagall waited patiently while she packed her things and then led her silently to the Headmaster's office, where Fawkes watched regally from his perch. She looked like she wanted to say something just before Hermione stepped into the fire, but instead she just pulled her favourite student and Head Girl into her arms, and Hermione was surprised to feel her Head of House shudder with silent weeping. 

"He'll be all right, Professor," she said in a small voice, uncertain of their sudden reversal of roles. "Harry just always manages somehow, doesn't he?"

Minerva McGonagall pulled away then and nodded, brushing the tears from her face, and Hermione stepped into the flames, announcing her own home fireplace. In the rushing of the Floo, she didn't hear McGonagall's whispered response: _"I thought the same of his father."_

Hermione landed in her parents' living room just as the first hint of dawn began creeping through the windows. The house was still silent, her parents sleeping peacefully upstairs, unaware that she was coming home. Crookshanks jumped from his nest on the sofa and wound happily in and out of her legs, and she reached down to give him an affectionate scratching around the ears. She put down her bag – she had elected to leave Hedwig in the familiar Hogwarts Owlery rather than bringing her home for such a short period of time – and considered whether to awaken her parents or simply to crawl into her own bed and try to sleep off the effects of the dreadful night. She took one step farther into the living room, and as she turned back to close the fireplace her eyes fell on the small canister of Floo powder her parents kept on hand. It was rare that Hermione Granger did anything on impulse, but before even she was quite aware of what she was doing, she had reached for the Floo powder and tossed some into the fire. 

"The Leaky Cauldron."

______________________________________________

The Leaky Cauldron wouldn't have been his first choice of places to go, but as far as he knew, it was the only public place he could enter by Floo in the middle of the night and not be suspected of burglary. He was pleased to see that the bar was empty – luck was officially with him. He quickly pulled the invisibility cloak out of his bag and over his head and crept through the dingy candlelit bar and into the equally dim antechamber where a young wizard was doing the night duty, flipping through a Quidditch magazine with his chin tucked into one hand. He glanced around when Harry entered the room, and Harry froze, feeling a panicked surge of adrenaline. One disadvantage to having the place deserted was that there was no background noise to cover his footsteps and the sound of his breathing. He held his breath, sure that his heart was pounding loud enough to awaken the guests sleeping upstairs, and finally the wizard went back to his magazine. 

When faced with the choice of either resuming normal respiration or passing out in an invisible heap, Harry cautiously chose the former, and when that didn't seem to give him away, he began slowly backing up, one silent step at a time, until he felt his legs press against a chair. He sat carefully, trapped in the Leaky Cauldron unless the clerk abandoned his post or someone came and opened the door long enough to afford him the opportunity of slipping through. He knew that it would probably be morning before that happened, and he settled in for a long and uncomfortable wait. He looked longingly at the Quidditch magazine and wished he had something more pleasant than his own thoughts to help him pass the time.

The desk clerk tossed down his magazine and reached for his wand. "_Accio_ magazine!" he commanded, with the self-important air of a showman. He pointed to a table about six feet away.

Nothing.

The man's brow furrowed with concentration as he tried again. "_Accio _magazine." 

Harry felt the laughter start to rise and forced it down. When the clerk raised his wand a third time, Harry just couldn't resist. This was one of the charms he and Hermione had practiced the most. He concentrated on the pile of magazines, and as the incantation left the clerk's mouth for the third time, Harry sent six magazines flying across the room. 

It was a mistake. The astonished look on the clerk's face as he was pelted with magazines was so incredibly funny that Harry nearly gave himself away. He shook with silent laughter for several minutes, got control of himself, and then lost it again. He was on the verge of becoming hysterical; the events of the night had left him in a fragile state and since tears had been denied him, he needed the release of laughter. Unfortunately, he couldn't afford either at the moment. He forced a calming breath as he watched the guy scramble around picking up magazines and relaxed as he saw the desk clerk settle in again for some more reading, pinching a bump on his chin with one hand and tracing along under the words with the other. 

There was nothing exciting enough to hold his attention, so he forced himself to think about what he was going to do. His "plan" when he had left Hogwarts had been to avenge Sirius's death and then find some way of disappearing from the wizarding world. Simple enough, right? He was the most powerful wizard in the world, right? Now he was being held hostage in a small lobby by a pimple-pinching squib, and he felt his grand ideas deflate as he realized how great his limitations were. He simply couldn't accomplish what he needed to while he remained shrouded under an invisibility cloak, but if he took it off, any witch or wizard in England would instantly recognize him. 

__

Except…his scar was gone! His scar was gone, and that had been the thing that most identified him as Harry Potter. He had graced the pages of the _Daily Prophet_ enough times that his other features had become familiar as well, but with his scar gone he might, perhaps, be able to alter his appearance enough that people who didn't know him well might not recognize him immediately. He wished he'd thought of it while he was still at Hogwarts and could use his wand without being traced; he didn't dare perform any appearance altering charms on himself without it – not when cutting off his nose to spite his face was a very literal possibility. No, he'd have to resort to Muggle methods, and that brought him to another problem.

He needed money. Muggle money and wizard money, and in sufficient quantities to last him for some time. He had to get into his vault at Gringotts without being seen. He knew beyond a doubt that Dumbledore would send someone after him, and he was determined not to be caught. At the moment, he feared Dumbledore more than the supposed kidnappers – he _wanted_ the kidnappers to find him. It would save him the trouble of tracking them down. As to what he would do then – well, he'd either kill or be killed, he supposed, and neither possibility disturbed him overmuch. He hadn't exactly developed a taste for killing, the one time he'd done it, but he hadn't experienced any guilt over it either. He had been telling Dumbledore the absolute truth that day in the infirmary. Voldemort had deserved far worse than the fate that had actually befallen him, and whoever had killed Sirius fell into the same category. Harry knew that he would not hesitate to cast Avada Kedavra if the opportunity presented itself, and that knowledge changed him somehow. He wasn't sure if he was stronger or weaker because of it, but he knew he was changed. If he didn't get the chance to cast the first curse, he would go to his own death willingly, having already decided that there was little place for him in the world anyway. He could see two possibilities for himself – he could remain in the wizarding world, but secluded and friendless, or he could renounce his powers and live as an anonymous Muggle. Neither of these options was terribly appealing, but of the two he preferred the second one, fraught with difficulties as it would certainly be. At least he might not always have to be alone.

He had been raised as a Muggle, so he knew something of their ways, but his Muggle education had ended at the age of ten, and little that he had learned since then had prepared him to support himself at any sort of Muggle employment. He couldn't just present his Hogwarts transcript and go to University, like other Muggles his own age. He could get menial jobs, he supposed, but he knew that he'd quickly be driven mad with boredom. Still, he might eventually be able to work his way up, and in the meantime it would be something. He had enough money left from his parents – assuming he could get his hands on it – to get him started somewhere – he didn't know where, exactly, but somewhere other than England. Perhaps America. The few Muggle movies he'd seen made America seem like an interesting place, and one where someone like him could blend in. He'd never met a wizard from America; surely there were some, and probably they'd heard of him, but they wouldn't be looking for him there, so…

He shook his head sharply, realizing that he'd become lost in his thoughts and had been on the verge of dozing off. The clerk seemed to be suffering from a similar problem, and Harry saw him rub his eyes tiredly and glance toward the door as if waiting for someone to come and relieve him. Gradually, he became aware of soft sounds that indicated the Leaky Cauldron was coming to life. He could hear occasional footsteps above and the distant clinking from the kitchen as the house-elves began to prepare for the breakfast crowd. He risked a stretch and hoped his bones wouldn't creak and give him away. He was heartily sick of the chair, the squib, and the invisibility cloak and was ready to be on his way, despite the fact that he didn't know where he was going or what he was going to do, exactly. 

He heard footsteps coming from the rabbit warren of small rooms that made up the bar, and turned, hoping that whoever had just arrived by Floo would be leaving and that he could sneak out behind. 

It was Hermione.

It was Hermione, and he was certain that his heart stopped beating for a full half a minute when he caught sight of her. He had expected Dumbledore to send someone after him, but he had never expected it to be Hermione. No. He revised that thought. There was no way Dumbledore had sent her; she had simply taken it upon herself to come. _Go away Hermione_, he thought. _Go home, go to Hogwarts, go anywhere I'm not, but stay away from me._

Hermione was carrying a bag much like his own, and there was another heart stopping moment when she lowered it into the chair next to him. One chair to the left and he would have been discovered. He stiffened and held his breath, but she didn't look his way; instead, she turned her attention to the clerk. "Hi, I was hoping you could help me. I'm looking for a friend of mine and thought he might have come through here sometime in the night."

"Nobody's been in here since last call, miss."

"Oh dear, are you sure? I was so hoping you'd have seen him."

"What's he look like, this friend?"

As Hermione began to describe him in terms of height and weight and some fairly unflattering remarks about his hair, Harry's hand snaked out from under the invisibility cloak and reached into the flap of her knapsack. 

__

Forgive me, Hermione, he thought as he felt his fingers close around her wallet. He pulled it quickly from the bag and had it underneath the invisibility cloak by the time Hermione finished her description. "…round glasses, and he's…we'll, you might have seen his picture in the paper. His name is Harry Potter."

"Blimy! Not _the_ Harry Potter – _the boy who lived_?"

Hermione winced slightly at this last. "He, er, doesn't really like to be called that, but yes, that's who I'm talking about. I take it he hasn't come through here?"

"No, miss, I'd remember Harry Potter coming through for sure."

"All right, then. Thanks." Hermione reached for her bag and walked out the door that led to the entrance to Diagon Alley. Harry made no move to follow her. He would let her get ahead of him and then leave via the other door – the one that led to the streets of London - as quickly as possible. He didn't dare examine her wallet just then, but he was desperately hoping it contained some Muggle money. 

He had waited for perhaps thirty more minutes when a family came clattering down the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron. Two young boys were fighting, and their harried mother was trying to walk between them to keep them separated. Their father settled the bill with the clerk and muttered something about getting an early start home before herding his family out the door.

"Linus pushed me!"

"Did not! I was nowhere near you!"

"Did too!"

"Boys, _please_!"

And Harry was free of the lobby and the desk clerk, free to stretch his legs, free to get away from the Leaky Cauldron as fast as his legs would carry him. 


	8. The Partner, er, Assistant

Hermione had always loved Diagon Alley. Every time she set foot on the bustling cobbled street, she was reminded of her first visit there with her parents, just before she started at Hogwarts. She had clutched her list of required school supplies in her hand and stared wide-eyed at the jumble of stores filled with the trappings of her new life. She had gloried in the purchase of her wand and had to be forcibly dragged out of Flourish and Blotts, so laden with books that she could barely stand. She had purchased the required texts, of course, but then had begged her parents to buy others that caught her eye, including her now dog-eared copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. In subsequent years, she had generally purchased her school supplies with her two best friends, meeting up with them after spending the summer months apart or, more recently, all going together after some time spent at The Burrow. They had been a foursome last year, with Ginny joining them for shopping and ice creams at Fortescues. 

This morning was different. In the first place, Diagon Alley was far from bustling. In fact, it was barely awake and had something of the same feel as the empty Hogwarts castle. She felt as if she should tiptoe around and speak in whispers, only there was no one there to speak to. She had so hoped that Harry had taken the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. It was where Sirius had been when his symptoms had hit, and since Hermione knew beyond a doubt that Harry's object in disappearing was to avenge Sirius's death, it made sense that his search would begin there. Additionally, neither of them was terribly familiar with the wizarding world outside of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and Diagon Alley, and she didn't think Harry would have risked staying in Hogsmeade due to its proximity to Dumbledore. No, every instinct told her that Harry would come here, and she was determined to find him when he did. 

She went and checked the sign at the entrance to Gringotts Bank– they didn't open until 9 a.m., and it was still only 7:30. She needed to stop in there and change her Pounds for Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. She had only a few Sickles to her name – barely enough to buy breakfast in the Leaky Cauldron. Still, it should be enough, she thought, and having been up all night, she felt that a cup of coffee would be welcome. She would get breakfast and devote her time to formulating a plan. Snape might be a master spy, but she had the advantage of knowing Harry – of knowing how his mind worked. She'd spent six years spotting flaws in his reasoning; she had no doubt she could do it again.

Back in the Leaky Cauldron she found Tom, the innkeeper, just coming on duty, and he showed her to a small table and handed her a menu. There were several other diners there, and they confused her with their odd glances until she finally realized that her Muggle clothing was out-of-place. Even after six years in the wizarding world, she shook her head at the strangeness of the fact that in a place that served hags, dwarves, elves, and witches and wizards of every description, _she_ stood out in a tank top and shorts. She placed her order with an agreeable young witch and sipped at her coffee when it came. She didn't much care for coffee, actually, but in this case she took it like medicine, knowing that she needed to keep her wits about her. She ate her breakfast with an enthusiasm that caught her off-guard; she hadn't realized she was hungry until the steaming plate was placed in front of her. It wasn't as good as the food as Hogwarts, but it was good enough, and she felt substantially revived when the plate was empty. 

As she ate, she formulated her plan. She couldn't shake the feeling that Harry would turn up in Diagon Alley. She didn't know how much money he had on him, but she suspected that he would try to access his vault at Gringotts and to ask around about who had been at the Leaky Cauldron with Sirius the previous night. There really was no other starting point since Remus and Sirius had been careful not to divulge any details of their own investigation. She decided that she would ask those questions first and then spend the day around Diagon Alley, watching for Harry.

The young witch presented her with her bill, and Hermione reached into her knapsack. When her fingers didn't immediately encounter her wallet, she peeled open the flap and began frantically scrabbling around among her things. 

"Oh, no!" she moaned. "My wallet's gone!"

The waitress looked a bit less friendly at that, and Hermione said, "I just can't imagine…I swear it was here earlier – but how could anyone have taken it?" She was thinking out loud now. "I haven't really seen anyone, haven't been in any crowds…"

"So you're saying you can't pay?" 

"Well, obviously not right this second," Hermione snapped. "But I _will _pay, just as soon as I can get some money."

"That's not how it works. You pay before you leave." The witch crossed her arms over her chest and glared. 

"Oh honestly, how am I supposed to pay with no money? It's a few Sickles, for goodness sake. Let me take the Floo home and I'll get some money and pay you back."

"Perhaps I could be of assistance?" interrupted a smooth voice. Hermione looked up and saw her Potions professor standing behind her. She knew that overall it was a Very Bad Thing that he'd found her there, but she _was_ in a tight spot just then, and whatever else he thought of her, surely he knew he could trust her with the loan of a few Sickles.

"Oh Professor," she said gratefully. "Thank you."

"I wasn't offering to help _you_, Miss Granger. I was offering to report your crime to the proper authorities. I'm sure you are aware that the commission of a crime will strip you of the title of Head Girl." 

"A _crime_! My wallet was stolen, Professor. I'm the _victim_ of a crime, _not_ the perpetrator. You know perfectly well that I didn't set out this morning to defraud the Leaky Cauldron out of a breakfast."

"What _did _you set out to do this morning, Miss Granger?" Snape asked coldly. "Because I seem to remember the Headmaster telling you quite clearly to go home to your parents and stay out of this."

"I did go home," she said defiantly. "I didn't promise I'd stay there."

"Don't split hairs with me," he hissed, looming over her menacingly. "I have enough to do with finding your fool friend. I've no time to trouble about you. Now I'm going to settle your bill, and then you will step into that fireplace. I don't want to see your face again until the Sorting, is that understood?"

Hermione had rarely in all her years at Hogwarts been disrespectful to a teacher, but she had also rarely been as angry as she was at that moment. She rose from her chair, needing the advantage of what height she had. "How dare you!" she said, her voice just barely controlled. "You have no authority over me here, Professor. I do not need your permission or the Headmaster's to sit and have breakfast in Diagon Alley. How do you know I'm not here to purchase my supplies for this year?"

He raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "You mean, aside from the fact that you have no money?"

"You can't send me home," she said, stopping just short of stamping her foot at him. "If you're going to report my heinous crime, please go ahead and do so. If not, leave me alone and I'll work this out for myself."

His eyes narrowed and he reached into a pocket of his robes and thrust some coins out at the waitress, who was openly gaping at the drama unfolding before her. "Leave us," he snapped, and she quickly complied, giving Hermione a slightly sympathetic backwards glance.

"Sit," he said, indicating the chair Hermione had vacated. She considered defying him on principle and then decided to save her energy for more significant battles. She sat, and he joined her at the table.

"Miss Granger, I assure you that had I known how much trouble you and your friends would cause me, I would have resigned my position at Hogwarts the day you were sorted."

"Professor, had we known how much trouble _you_ would cause _us_, we would have been delighted to help you pack," she answered icily.

They glared at one another over the table for a long moment, and then he surprised her by throwing back his head and laughing. She cast her mind back and realized she'd never seen him laugh before and had only rarely seen him smile. The sight of him laughing was really quite unnerving.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he said finally. "I am pleased to have our terms so neatly defined. Fortunately, we need endure one another for only one more year. And having made it this far, I would prefer to suffer your presence in my classroom for a few more months rather than explain to Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore that I allowed you to get yourself killed by meddling in something that doesn't concern you."

"Harry doesn't _concern_ me?" Hermione's voice was deadly.

"Perhaps I misspoke myself," Snape said, and his tone was, for him, remarkably conciliatory. "Of course Potter concerns you, but involving yourself in this will only place you in the same danger that faces him right now. Have you learned nothing from Mr Weasley's death? Would you ask Potter to go through that again?"

She blanched at the mention of Ron. She had to admit, Snape made a decent argument – damn him. But she wasn't quite prepared to give up yet. "Professor, I know that you are better trained for this kind of thing than I am, but I also think I have some advantages that you don't. In the first place, _I know Harry_ – I know how he thinks. I've been helping him plan things for years now, and I think I'm in the best position to anticipate him."

"You've been doing his thinking _for him_ for years. That's not the same thing."

"I know his weaknesses," she insisted. "I can help find him. And my second point was that in the event that we do find him, Harry would be more likely to come to me than to you, or Dumbledore, or anyone else."

"'In the event that _we _find him'?" Snape repeated, incredulous. "Surely you don't think that I'm going to allow you to assist me in this."

"I was envisioning myself as more of a partner than an assistant," she said with asperity. "But call it what you will, I can help you, Professor. Your chances of finding Harry are better working with me."

"Let's just take a moment to examine the liabilities you bring to this proposed 'partnership'," he sneered. "You're an under-aged witch, which means that you can't use your wand. You're not licensed to Apparate, which means that if I agreed to let you accompany me, we'd be stuck looking for fireplaces all over Britain. You are one of my students – a _female_ student – and the very idea of us travelling together is wildly inappropriate and could damage both our reputations. Finally, you're Muggle born, and given the men I'm forced to associate with, that makes you automatically vulnerable."

"I refused to be frightened by a bunch of bigots," she said, tossing back her hair.

"You foolish girl! You _should_ be frightened. The fact that they're ignorant doesn't make them less frightening – it makes them _more_ so, and if you had an iota of common sense you'd realize that. You have no idea what I've seen these men do to girls like you, but I can assure you that death would have been merciful by comparison."

She flushed at that but her voice was steady. "I consider myself warned, Professor. Unless they prick my finger and do a blood test upon meeting me, I see no reason why my shameful heritage should even come up."

He narrowed his eyes. "Then you think you're capable of playing a role? Of lying outright if need be? You Gryffindors are not known for being gifted at dissimulation, but if I agree to this, it will almost certainly be required of you."

She took heart at the "if" and saw for the first time that he was actually considering allowing her to help. She was being interviewed, she realized with a surge of hope. "I prefer honesty, Professor, but if you recall, I've managed to be successfully dishonest on several occasions and feel sure I could do so again, particularly if it was to help Harry."

He nodded at that and looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. The jury was considering its verdict, and she held her breath waiting to hear what it would decide. "It is possible that you might actually be of some use to me," he said finally. "With any luck at all, Potter will be stupid enough to show his famous face here in Diagon Alley today and we will find him before anyone else does. He will be only slightly better off in my hands than in theirs, but I will return him to Hogwarts in one piece, and I doubt he'll get a similar offer from the kidnappers. If we do not find him today, I will let you help me look for him, assuming you agree to several ground rules."

"And they are?"

"First, I am in charge. You are to do what I say, when I say, without asking the endless and annoying questions for which you are so famous. In return, I shall make a genuine attempt to keep you apprised of what we are doing, and why. In short, I will trust you, Miss Granger. I will trust you to act intelligently and to respect the fact that I have more experience at subterfuge than you have."

She looked at him thoughtfully, considering what he had said. On the one hand, she didn't like the part where he was irrevocably 'in charge' - though it was no less than she had expected from him. On the other hand, his offer to keep her informed came as a pleasant surprise. "I agree, Professor."

"Good. Secondly, I will reserve the right to send you back home if the situation becomes too dangerous. I will not have you getting yourself killed on my watch. If I determine that your life is in danger, you are to return home without cavil. Do you agree?"

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, sensing a loophole. "Does this mean that you reserve the right to cry 'danger' at the least provocation and send me home two hours from now?"

A gleam of approval came to his eye. She felt quite sure it was the first such look she had ever earned from him despite six years of excellence in the classroom. "You're thinking like a Slytherin," he said with admiration.

"It seems the logical thing to do when dealing with one."

"Quite so. However, to answer your question - _no_. I give you my word, poor thing that it is, that I will only send you home if the danger is real and immediate. If you agree to the condition, I will not use it to get rid of you the first time I find your company tiresome. If that were the case, I doubt we'd make it even the two hours you mentioned."

"You make your point, Professor," she said acidly. "Fine. I agree to the condition. Is there anything else?"

"No other conditions. It probably goes without saying that I'll not go out of my way to accommodate you or to make myself an agreeable companion. I had hoped to get some research done this summer, and instead I've spent the entire break chasing Death Eaters and trying to save Potter's ungrateful skin. I'm not pleased to be on this excursion, and I'll not make any attempt to pretend otherwise or to feign good humour for the sake of your feelings."

She laughed at that. "Professor, I don't believe I've _ever_ seen you in 'good humour.' I certainly wouldn't expect you to feign it for the first time on my behalf."

His eyes narrowed a bit at her cheek, but he let it pass. "Fine, then." He beckoned to the waitress. "I'm going to have breakfast now, too, and as I eat we can discuss the plan for the day. I take it you think Potter might show up here?"

"I do. I think he'll want to find out who was here the night Sirius was poisoned. I also suspect he'll need to access his vault at Gringotts."

He nodded his agreement and then gave his order to the waitress, who was noticeably timid around him. "Do you care for anything else?" he asked Hermione. 

"No, thank you," she answered, surprised that he had bothered.

The waitress scurried off, and Hermione took advantage of the moment to ask him something that had just occurred to her. "What will you tell Professor Dumbledore? About me, I mean."

His mouth quirked upwards. "As I've already said, it is my great hope that Potter will be found today and it will not be necessary to tell the Headmaster anything at all. However, if that is not the case, I believe I will subscribe to the adage that you and your friends have virtually adopted as your motto over the years."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "And that is?"

"Sometimes, Miss Granger, it is easier to get forgiveness than permission."

She laughed again, feeling a vague sense of wonder that Snape had provoked her to laughter twice in five minutes, especially under the current circumstances. "That probably _is_ for the best," she agreed. "Though I would point out that the boys have always had a greater tendency to live by that motto than I have."

"True," Snape said softly. "And last spring, one of them died by it."

Hard black eyes met soft brown for a long moment, and finally Hermione nodded briefly, acknowledging the truth of his words. "Perhaps we should discuss our strategy, Professor."

"At the moment, I agree with your assessment of Potter's probable actions. In fact, I'm surprised he's not here already. I take it you've asked around."

She nodded. "The night clerk saw nothing of him, and the Alley was virtually deserted when I got here. I thought I would watch Gringotts when it opened."

"Fine. I'll go there with you initially, just long enough to make a withdrawal, and then I'll leave you to keep watch there while I employ myself elsewhere. Have you an account at Gringotts?"

"No. My parents give me Muggle money and I exchange it there, but I've never opened an account."

"I'll withdraw sufficient funds for the both of us, then," he said as the waitress brought him his breakfast.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "I will pay you back, of course."

He reached for his coffee with one hand and waved her comment away with the other. "It is of no importance, Miss Granger. I have sufficient means to cover our expenses, and since you've agreed to my terms, you're technically working for me."

"I wish I knew what had happened to my wallet," she said, frowning both at the loss and at the thought of accepting money from Snape.

"Are you sure you brought it with you?"

"Perfectly. It's the last thing I put into my bag before leaving Hogwarts." She lifted the bag and showed it to him. "I never even put the bag down when I got to my house, and then this place was completely empty when I arrived. I talked to the desk clerk for a few minutes and then walked up and down Diagon Alley."

"Did you talk to anyone on the street?"

"No. There was no one about."

"So you never put your bag down and never saw anyone?" He raised the infuriating eyebrow again. "I'm sorry Miss Granger, but you must have failed to pack it."

"I did _not_ fail to pack it," she said firmly. "And I didn't say I never put it down. I did set my bag down once, out there when I was talking to the clerk."

"But there was no one else in the room?"

"No," she snapped. "Not unless he was…" She stared at Snape and gasped as the sarcastic comment she had been about to make suddenly struck home. "That _rat_!" she exclaimed. "_How could he_?"

Snape's face darkened. "The invisibility cloak."

"He was sitting right behind me the whole time I was talking to the clerk! He sat there listening to me, and not only did he not say a word, _he picked my pocket_. I'm going to wring his neck!"

"You're going to have to stand in line," Snape said, grim. "Miss Granger, please tell me that you weren't carrying much money."

Hermione looked miserable and shook her head. "I had all my money for next term," she said. "My parents gave it to me before I ever left to visit Harry. We were going to get our supplies together."

Snape looked like he wanted to throw something, and when he spoke, his voice achieved new levels of sarcasm. "So our hero is wandering around Muggle London with a wallet stuffed with money. How delightful for him. If he manages to avoid being kidnapped, he should have a grand time. It was so considerate of you to provide him with the means." 

He glared at Hermione, and she glared right back at him. "I didn't know he was there," she snapped. "It's not like I meant to help him run away."

"No, but had you been at _home_, where you were so clearly told to go, he never would have had access to your bag."

"We've covered that, Professor, and if you could just move past it for a minute, you might see that we're at least a little better off than we were before. We know our first instinct was correct. Harry _did_ come here and he just might come back, once he thinks we've stopped looking for him here. In the meantime, we can assume that he's in London somewhere."

"Have you ever _been_ in London, Miss Granger? If you have you will realize that is small consolation indeed. Potter could stay hidden there for months if he wanted to."

"But he won't," Hermione answered confidently. "Not yet, anyway. Not until he finds out who killed Sirius."

"And in doing that, he'll probably get himself killed – or worse," Snape said tiredly, thinking at that moment that he had never hated anyone as much as he hated Harry Potter. 

"What do you mean by that?" she asked. "And what do you know about this whole kidnapping plot? Why does anyone want to kidnap Harry?"

"I will explain all that I know, but not right now," he answered. "Right now, I think we need to revise our plan. We will still go to Gringotts, but there's no use in either of us sitting around waiting on Potter to show up. We now know that he's avoiding you, and I think it's safe to say that he's avoiding me as well."

"Very safe," she said dryly, earning a glare.

"I might remind you, Miss Granger, that one of your arguments for assisting me was that Potter would be more likely to make contact with you. Had I known that contact would consist of stealing you blind, I might well have elected to work alone." She nodded, chastened, and he went on. "I now think it very unlikely that Potter will be found today. He knows you're here and will assume that Dumbledore sent someone as well. If he is the one who took your wallet, he has the means to keep himself in London for a while and will probably do so. He is, regrettably, not quite as stupid as he used to be, and I doubt he'll show his face in Diagon Alley today. Just in case, however, I will put some people on the alert, have them keeping an eye out for him. If he's spotted, they'll let us know."

"What will we be doing?"

"Sleeping, primarily. Neither of us has slept at all, and we'll need to be fresh for tonight. We're attending a dinner party."

"We are?" she asked weakly.

"We are," he repeated. "You'll need dress robes, of course, and whatever other accoutrement women trouble themselves with for such affairs. I'll leave you to handle all of that on your own after we finish at Gringotts."

"Fine," she said, sounding more confident than she felt.

"I have a young cousin," he said thoughtfully. "She's a rising sixth year at Durmstrang. Her family left Britain after Voldemort fell 16 years ago, and they've lived very quietly since then and had little contact with the British magical community."

"You want me to pretend to be your cousin?" Hermione guessed.

"Very good, Miss Granger," he said, again with that gleam of approval. "I will give you what background you need to know about her, and I think you'll be able to manage any questions that might come your way. It will be necessary to darken your hair, however. Cassandra's colouring is similar to mine."

"That will be fine," she agreed with a nod. "You'll have to do it, however, since I can't use my wand."

"What fun," he drawled. "Perhaps afterwards we can discuss makeup and exchange beauty secrets."

She giggled and then clapped a hand to her mouth when she saw his scornful expression. "I'm sorry, Professor," she said. "It's just that I don't expect you to have a sense of humour."

He gave her a look that could have stripped the plaster from the walls. "I have no tolerance for schoolgirl giggles, Miss Granger."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't make jokes," she answered evenly. "For a brief moment, I actually found you funny. I doubt very much that it will be a regular occurrence."

He glared at her but seemed for the moment to be without a comeback, and she felt a little smug. She was surprised by the overall tone of their impromptu breakfast meeting. She'd had few one-on-one conversations with Severus Snape over the years, and she had expected him to be a more concentrated version of his classroom persona. He certainly wasn't pleasant – that would be too great of a stretch – but he had been more civil than she had expected, considering how little he wanted to be burdened with her assistance in his search. He had also seemed to take her seriously, once he'd agreed to let her help, and she had the impression that he would stick to the bargain they had made, no matter how tempted he was to send her home. And send her he could; neither of them were under any illusions about that. A conversation with Dumbledore – or her parents – would be sufficient to ensure that she would be home within the hour. She was there by his grace, and she intended to give him no cause to regret the decision. But with his barely controlled civility - and her own initial anger at him - had come a freedom of speech she hadn't anticipated. Several times, she had spoken to him in a way she wouldn't have believed possible only weeks before. She had spoken to him as an equal rather than a professor, and – miracle of miracles – he had tolerated it, if barely. It gave the conversation a slightly surreal feeling, but she found that she liked it and was somewhat less terrified at the prospect of working closely with him than she might have been otherwise. Apparently Snape the spy was marginally more approachable than Snape the Potions Master. 

He paid the bill for the second time that morning, and the two of them set off for Gringotts where he made a withdrawal and spoke with one of the Goblins, asking to be alerted if Harry Potter attempted to access his vault. 

"We do not disclose the personal business of our customers," the Goblin said nastily.

"I assure you, this is a matter of life and death," Snape replied. "Failure to notify me might well result in you having one less customer."

"We're willing to take that chance."

Snape glared and turned away. "Bloody Goblins," he muttered. 

"Aren't you going to try again?" she demanded.

"There's no point," he answered with a dismissive wave. "I knew it was a long shot. I have some…acquaintances in Knockturn Alley who are a good bit less scrupulous about handing over needed information, assuming they're well compensated. They can keep an eye on Gringotts and the Leaky Cauldron for us. It will probably be more effective than if we tried to do it ourselves, since Potter will be avoiding us."

He held the door for her and she squinted in the bright morning light as she stood on the steps of the bank. "Here," he said, handing her a small pouch. "Do try not to give it all to Potter this time."

"I'll do my best," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Get whatever you need for tonight's dinner and for several days' travel," he said. "You'll need a combination of Muggle clothing and witch's robes, but I suppose the Muggle clothing will have to wait until we venture into London. For now, you should be able to find what you need at Malkin's. I'm going to step down Knockturn Alley and then I'll arrange for rooms at the Leaky Cauldron. Just get the key from Tom and try to get some sleep. I'll wake you by five."

"Yes, sir." She tucked the bag of Galleons into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. The surreal feeling was creeping over her again as she stood in the middle of Diagon Alley receiving a shopping list of such a personal nature from her Potions master. It was one thing for him to tell her she needed a pewter cauldron or a large supply of lacewings and quite another for him to be discussing her clothing and offering wake-up calls. 

He seemed not to notice, however, and simply walked away from her once his message had been delivered. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs – really, some sleep _would_ be a good thing – and headed for Madam Malkin's to begin shopping. 

Diagon Alley was bustling again, and her eyes darted everywhere, searching for Harry, on her way to buy her robes. She didn't really expect to see him, but she couldn't quite give up the hope that he would turn up and she could give him a richly deserved lecture and drag him back to Hogwarts. She saw nothing of Harry, of course, and soon was pushing her way through the door of Madam Malkin's store. 

"Well hello, dear," Madam Malkin greeted her pleasantly. "You're bright and early this morning. Here to get some new school robes, I suppose?"

"Er, no, not exactly," Hermione said. "I mean, I will need to come back for some school robes, but today I need some new dress robes and some plain robes for every day. Perhaps two sets of those."

Madam Malkin looked mildly surprised but didn't pry. "Certainly. Let's start with the dress robes, shall we? Where are you going?"

"A dinner party. I've never been to a dinner party before – not with witches and wizards, I mean – and I'm not exactly sure what I should wear," she confided. "Or much of anything else, for that matter."

"Never fear, Miss Granger," Madam Malkin said comfortingly, beginning to flip through her racks. "No one expects you Muggle-borns to know all our ways at once."

Hermione, of course, had reasons for not wanting anyone at this particular dinner party to know that she was Muggle born, but she didn't say this out loud to Madam Malkin, who was continuing to talk as she searched. "Now let's see…we'll need summer weight – maybe something in a bright red – that would look nice with your colouring.

__

Good grief. Her colouring was going to change too, and that was another thing she didn't really want to explain. And red…well, she wasn't sure she wanted to stand out quite that much. "Red might be a little…bright," she said. 

Madam Malkin frowned at her thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps you're right." She thought for another minute and then snapped her fingers. "I've got just the thing." She whirled out of sight into the back room and then emerged with her arms full of a beautiful shimmering lavender fabric. She shook out the robes, which were of the lightest silk and looked to be more fitted than any robes Hermione had worn before. The neckline was scalloped and seemed a bit too low, she thought, eyeing it nervously. 

Madam Malkin read her mind. "Trust me dear – you have the figure to pull it off, and it will look lovely with your nice summer tan. Here, go try it on."

Hermione accepted the robes and went into the dressing area, where she slipped out of her shorts and tank top and dropped the beautiful silk over her head. The robes were a bit long, but other than that they fit as if they'd been made for her. She still thought the neckline was a little too revealing, but the silk felt delicious against her skin and she felt a bit like a princess as she smoothed the fabric over her hips and closed the hidden fastenings. It was the prettiest thing she'd ever worn, and she had a feeling it would put a sizable dent in the money Snape had given her, but she _had _promised to pay him back, after all. She stepped out of the dressing room and stood gazing at herself in front of the triple mirror just outside.

"Lovely, dearie, just lovely," the first mirror said with a sigh.

"You should see the back," the second one chimed in. "Just the thing, really."

"You're going to knock him off his feet," the third one assured her, causing her to blush so profoundly that Madam Malkin laughed. 

"So that's it, is it? Young wizard taking you home to meet the family tonight? Well, dear, in those robes you're bound to make a grand impression. You look absolutely lovely."

Hermione didn't correct her, grateful that the witch had given her an excuse not to lie outright. "They're a bit long," she ventured.

"I can take care of that in two shakes," Madam Malkin promised. 

"Are you sure the front isn't too low?" Hermione's fingers went to the neckline, which revealed just a hint of pale cleavage.

Madam Malkin shook her head. "You're only young once dear. You have a lovely figure and should be proud to show it off. Those robes are in perfect taste, I promise you." Her eyes twinkled. "My mirrors are never wrong. Whoever he is, he'll probably drop to one knee and propose the minute he sees you."

The very idea of Snape proposing to her was so preposterous that Hermione burst out laughing. Madam Malkin took it as teenaged high-spirits and chuckled along with her. 

Another half-hour was sufficient for Hermione to pick out everyday robes and the accessories she needed to go with her dress robes. Madam Malkin clearly found it a bit strange that Hermione was buying everything she would need for that night, right down to her underclothing, but she didn't comment and Hermione didn't offer to explain why the Head Girl at Hogwarts apparently didn't own a slip. 

She was laden with packages as she made her way back to the Leaky Cauldron, and she was pleased to learn from Tom that Snape had already gotten back and arranged for their rooms. The exhaustion was overcoming every other feeling, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a comfortable bed and forget about Harry, Sirius, and the terrifying prospect of being the only Mudblood at a dinner party full of Death Eaters. Tom reached behind the desk and handed her an old fashioned key, which she knew would have been charmed to resist _Alohomora._

"Professor Snape is in the adjoining room," he said. "He asked that you knock and let him know when you get in." If he found anything strange in their arrangements, he was careful not to show it, and glancing around at the wide variety of patrons in the now-crowded pub, she suspected there wasn't much Tom hadn't seen over the years.

"Thank you," she said simply, gathering up her packages and climbing the wooden stairs to the floor above.

She found her room and first hung out her dress robes so they would be fresh for that night. She then knocked softly at the door between the two rooms. She was on the verge of knocking a second time when the door opened. Snape was wearing trousers and a white shirt, and she realized it was the first time she'd ever seen him in anything but his customary teaching robes. He looked smaller and less formidable, an impression which was enhanced by the lines of fatigue on his face. 

"I'm glad you're back, Miss Granger. I wanted to see you safely in before going to sleep."

She looked at him in surprise. "I'm sorry, Professor," she said. "I didn't realize you'd be waiting on me or I'd have hurried. Surely I'm not in danger here in Diagon Alley?"

He stepped back into his room and reached for his wand. "I hope not, but I've learnt never to take such things for granted." He began casting additional wards on her door and the windows, leaving her with the impression that Azkaban would be the only place on earth where she'd be more thoroughly locked in. He gave her a wry smile, reading her mind. "Yes, Miss Granger, some do find me paranoid, but precautions such as this have saved my life before. I'm assuming, by the way, that you're not planning to venture out again for some time. I'm going to sleep, and you'll have to wake me if you want to leave."

She understood his implied threat perfectly and assured him that she, too, was planning to get some sleep and had no intention of venturing out. 

"Good," he said, returning to the doorway. "I'll see you this afternoon then, and we can discuss what you'll need to know for tonight. I will also make good on my promise to tell you what I know of this kidnapping plot."

"Yes, sir." She found that she wanted him to leave. His presence in the small room was disturbing, somehow, in a way that dining together downstairs hadn't been. Even without his billowing robes and fierce glare, he was a strong force that seemed to alter the energy of the room, leaving her feeling just enough off-balance that it made her uncomfortable – vulnerable, she realized, particularly as he'd just locked them in so thoroughly. 

She felt foolish for her apprehension when he said simply, "Sleep well, Miss Granger," and closed the door between their rooms. 

__

Sleep, she thought. _It'll all make more sense when I've had some sleep_. And with that, she kicked off her shoes and climbed into the comfortable bed, slipping quickly and gratefully into unconsciousness.


	9. His Makeover

Harry tried not to feel frightened as he made his way through the streets of Muggle London, but he realized that he had been terribly insulated, first by the Dursleys, who practically never let him see the light of day, and then by Hogwarts, which limited his comings and goings to the school grounds and Hogsmeade. He'd never been in Muggle London by himself before. He had no idea where he was going or even if he would be able to get back to Diagon Alley. He'd have to do that eventually, but he couldn't be bothered with worrying about it right now. Instead, he simply got away from Diagon Alley as fast as possible despite the fact that a part of him cried out for the familiarity of its cobbled streets and fascinating shops. Instead of following his heart, he beat his way through the cacophony of noise and activity that characterizes any big city, fighting back that underlying sense of unease. 

He couldn't help but draw mental contrasts between Hogsmeade, which for a brief time had actually been his home, and Muggle London, which beckoned to him as a starting point for his new life. Of the two, there was no question that he preferred the peaceful streets of Hogsmeade. It was astonishing, really, how loud and dirty automobiles were. Everywhere he looked in London, automobiles pressed one after another through congested streets. Wizards knew of cars, of course, and most had ridden in them on occasion, but few wizard families bothered owning one. With the Floo network in place, even children who weren't old enough to ride a broom or Apparate were able to get from place to place. There were a few people who just seemed to have an attraction for Muggle modes of transportation, like Mr Weasley with his charmed Ford and Sirius with his flying motorcycle, but most were happy without the bother. He'd never seen a car in Hogsmeade, and it was a much more peaceful place than London. He felt depressed as he considered making the Muggle world his own again. 

He was on a dingy side street when he caught sight of a salon that looked similar to the one where Aunt Petunia used to drag him to get his hair cut. He had resolved to change his appearance using Muggle methods, so perhaps a place like that would be the start to his new life. He automatically started across the street, nearly getting hit by one of the damnable cars on the way. The driver swerved and blared his horn, and Harry made it safely to the other side with his heart pounding nearly out of his chest. 

What he wouldn't give to have his Firebolt with him.

He entered the salon and saw immediately that it was actually quite a bit different from the place Aunt Petunia used to take him, but given what he hoped to do, he thought that might not be such a bad thing. There were two girls working, and between them they had a least six different shades of hair, which seemed to spike in every direction. One of the girls had her nostril pierced, in addition to multiple ear piercings, and the other wore a ring in her eyebrow. This was another thing he rarely saw among witches and wizards. Occasionally he saw a witch with pierced ears, particularly if, like Hermione, she had been Muggle born, but it was rare to see the multiple body piercings that were so common among young Muggles. 

"Hello luv," one of the girls greeted him cheerfully. "Can I help you?"

"Er, yes," Harry said, feeling a bit foolish all of a sudden. "I'm interested in…well, looking _different_."

The two girls exchanged knowing glances. "Gotcherself someone you want to impress?" 

"Er, something like that," he said, flushing. 

"Never fear, you're in good hands." The girl with the red and blonde hair grinned and took his arm, practically dragging him to her chair. "Now let's see…what's to do about this hair?" She ran her fingers through his unruly mop, her long fingernails making rasping sounds as they raked against his scalp."

"Kind of all over the place, isn't it?" she said cheerfully. "What d'you think Annie?"

"Short," Annie said decisively. "Maybe blonde."

Well, he had said _different_, after all…

"Sound good to you?" The girl stopped running her fingers through his hair then and looked at him in the mirror. 

"I guess so," he said weakly. "Whatever you think."

"Lovely. Let's do 'er." He watched as the girl, whose name was Phyl, snapped on some latex gloves and then began mixing chemicals in a haphazard way that would have sent Snape straight into an apoplectic fit. She used a small spatula to slather the noxious stuff all over his head, and as the fumes assaulted his nostrils, he wondered a bit nervously why, if it was safe enough for his scalp, _she _was wearing gloves. Once his hair was saturated, she tied a plastic bag onto his head and manhandled him over to sit under a hairdryer. 

He had rarely felt as silly in his life. 

He listened as Phyl and Annie kept up a running patter which seemed to be about one of their boyfriends, but it was a bit hard to follow what with the noise of the dryer and the cold trickle of chemicals running into his right ear. Fortunately, it wasn't long before Phyl came to his rescue, pulling him out from under the dryer and pushing him down into a chair that leaned back to the sink. She removed the bag from his head and gave him a satisfied nod before shoving him under the warm water and washing his hair three times, all the while keeping an enthusiastic, if hard to follow, conversation going with Annie. When she was finished, she towelled him dry and bustled him back to her chair, where he caught his first glimpse of what she had done.

"Bloody hell," he said involuntarily, as he saw himself in the mirror. It looked like his head had sprouted spaghetti and the only thing he could find to be grateful for in the whole world was that none of his fellow Gryffindors were present to witness his humiliation.

Phyl laughed. "We're not finished yet," she said cheerfully, reaching for the electric clippers. Soon blonde hair was hitting the floor in giant clumps as the clippers buzzed about his head. He consoled himself with the fact that he'd made his own hair grow back once before, and if this turned out too awful he might be able to do it again. Of course, he'd be right back to needing a disguise…_oh hell_, he thought again, disgusted with himself. _It's just hair. _She finished on top with the scissors and then ran some gel through it before turning him around and letting him see.

It was…well…shocking…and weird…and incredibly _different_ – and wasn't that what he'd said he wanted? He was surprised to find that he actually didn't hate it. The colour was the weirdest part; the short hair actually looked pretty good, he thought. He'd worn it the other way for so long because he'd been trying to hide his scar, but now that the scar was gone, he thought the short hair flattered him and made him look a bit older. The blonde was a bit too reminiscent of Draco Malfoy and Dudley Dursley for his taste, but at the moment it suited his purpose right down to the ground. He wouldn't be surprised if he could walk right by Hermione like this without being recognized. 

"Well, what d'you think?"

"I like it," he managed. "It looks good."

"Bit more current than what you had," she said proudly, "not that it was bad before, mind – just needed a bit of updating."

"Well, you've certainly done that," he said with a grin. "Thanks." He made to stand up and she stopped him.

"Wait just a bit," she said, looking at him thoughtfully. "You know what you really need to complete your look?"

"What's that?" he asked, a bit suspiciously.

"An earring. We do piercings here. Only above the waist though."

He contemplated that for a second and then shuddered slightly at the implications. "I don't know…"

"Oh come on," she said. "Don't you think so Annie?"

"Absolutely," Annie said. "Maybe one like this." She pointed to the small silver hoop in her right eyebrow.

"But…just in my ear, right? Does it hurt a lot?"

"Hardly a bit," Phyl said, readying her next set of supplies despite the fact that he hadn't made a formal commitment. At least he didn't remember doing so, but it didn't stop Phyl from drawing on fresh gloves and carelessly swabbing alcohol on his right earlobe. She drew a small appliance out of a drawer and then inserted what he was pleased to see was an apparently new and sterile earring. Her next words were, "Hold still, luv," and he heard a clicking sound and felt a moment of pressure. 

"There you go," Phyl said, turning him around again. 

"That's it?" He looked admiringly at the small silver hoop and felt that he _would_ rather like to show it off to the Gryffindors. "It's brilliant. Thanks."

"You'll want to leave it in for a month or so and clean it every day with a bit of alcohol," she said, obviously pleased with his reaction. "So, is there anything else we can do for you?"

"I guess not," he said. "I'd better get going."

The two girls seemed a bit sorry to see him go; apparently his makeover had afforded them some entertainment that morning. He was a bit sorry too, as it meant that he would be heading back into Muggle London, but he paid them with Hermione's money, leaving Phyl a generous tip, as he felt sure Hermione would have wanted him to do.

Once outside, he decided to give up wandering. He considered the tube for a moment, but realized he'd never ridden it by himself, and he had no idea where he was going. In the end, he simply hailed a cab and told the driver he was newly in London, needed to get some shopping done, and could he recommend someplace with lots to choose from? The driver obliged him, and he hardly noticed where they were going until the cab hurtled to a stop and emptied him out on Oxford Street. Now _this_ was more like it. Oxford Street was nothing at all like Diagon Alley – much busier and less comforting, somehow - but he liked its energy and the huge variety of places to shop. Muggle things weren't nearly as interesting as wizard things, of course, but he thoroughly enjoyed the freedom that came with total anonymity, something he hadn't had in quite some time. He walked up and down, along with what felt like every Muggle in London and a number who had been imported from other places, and finally settled on one store and ventured in to buy some clothes. He emerged with a collection of T-shirts and jeans, having shopped with an eye to looking as bland and unremarkable as possible. He had one set of wizards robes crammed in his bag for when he went back to Diagon Alley, but at the moment he had a greater need for Muggle clothing. His last stop was a one-hour optometrist, where he picked out a new pair of glasses that he thought complemented his new look. The lenses were smaller and oval instead of round, and the glinting silver frames made him think fleetingly of Albus Dumbledore when he first put them on. He'd briefly considered contact lenses, to change his eye colour, but the thought of putting something in his eyes had always given him the creeps, and he found he couldn't face the thought just then, even for the sake of his disguise.

He stopped and ate ravenously while he waited on his glasses to be ready, and after he picked them up, he hailed another cab and used his newly-in-London story again to find an inexpensive hotel, since the ones around Oxford Street had seemed rather above his means. The cab driver found just the thing, and after several false attempts with a small piece of plastic that looked like a Muggle credit card, he closed his eyes and silently invoked _Alohomora_, giving thanks once again for Hermione's insistence that he practice his wandless magic and wondering idly what on earth Muggles had against keys. He sank down on the bed, exhausted, staring at himself in the mirror over the small dresser. 

"So what do you think?" he asked the mirror, feeling immediately foolish when he remembered where he was. How was he supposed to make the Muggle world his own if he couldn't even open doors without magic and went around talking to the furniture? 

He looked the part, though, that was for certain. Or at least, he no longer looked the part of Harry Potter. He was virtually unrecognisable. Amazing, really, what could be accomplished without using any magic at all. Of course, he had gone through quite a bit of Hermione's money. Her parents were generous with her school allowance, but at the rate he was spending it, it wouldn't last very many days. He would have to go back to Diagon Alley, but he decided it could wait a day. Surely by then, Hermione and whoever else was looking for him would have moved on to someplace else, and he could get to his vault at Gringotts and then begin looking for Sirius's murderer.

__

Sirius. It had only been a few hours since his godfather's death, but it seemed much longer, so much had happened in that time. Now that he was no longer consumed with the business of running and hiding, it all came back to him with a force that robbed him of breath – Sirius, on the bed in the infirmary, burning to death before their eyes. Apologizing for not being able to finish his job as Harry's godfather. Giving the job to _Snape_ of all people. Harry let his mind skip over that part. He had no intention of ever seeing Snape again – or anyone else from Hogwarts. The fact that Snape had taken possession of some stupid coin meant nothing to Harry. He thought instead about Sirius and about how little time they'd actually had together.

He thought about all that Voldemort had taken from him.


	10. Her Makeover

Hermione rarely napped, even after a late night of studying, so she hadn't really expected to sleep all day. She was surprised to wake and feel from the altered angle of the sun in the room that a great deal of time had passed. She stretched on the bed, and a glance at her watch told her that it was after four p.m. – nearly time to begin getting ready for dinner according to the itinerary Snape had set. She swung her feet to the floor and grabbed her bag on her way to the bathroom. She was grateful for her parents' obsessive concern with dental hygiene; their upbringing had ensured that she always kept a toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste in her bag. She hadn't given a thought to purchasing one in Diagon Alley. She also rifled through her various purchases, pulling out the bag that contained her makeup.

The bathroom was a pleasant surprise, with a large old-fashioned tub much like the one she had in her private room at Hogwarts. There were a number of jets with various foams and bubbles, and she quickly decided that a long bath, rather than the shower she had planned, would be just the thing to free her mind from the sleepy tug of the nap. It worked, and within moments of lowering herself into the bubbly depths, she began working on the problem of how to find Harry, turning over one piece of information after another, as she mechanically washed herself. She became so lost in thought that she spent longer in the tub than she had planned, and only when the water became uncomfortably cool did she realize that it was probably time she got out and began getting ready for dinner. 

With Snape.

__

Oh this is going to be so weird, she thought, as she dried herself and slipped into the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. The mirror was streaky with condensation, and it irritated her that she couldn't just use her wand to clear it as she did when she was at school. It made no sense to her that mirrors could be charmed to carry on conversations but couldn't be charmed to reflect despite a little bit of humidity. It was only one tiny example of the wizarding world having its priorities slightly out of kilter, in her opinion. She sighed and went back out into her room, intending to find her underclothing among the bags from Madam Malkin's. She walked straight into Severus Snape.

She gasped, severely startled – nearly hyperventilating - at the sight of his dark form looming in her room. "You scared me to death!" she snapped, the minute she could draw proper breath. 

"I apologize," he said coolly. "I did knock, but there was no answer. I was concerned."

She realized suddenly what she was wearing and clutched the robe tighter around her body. "I was bathing – obviously," she said, forcing herself to sound calmer. "I lost track of the time."

"Fine," he said, for the first time looking slightly embarrassed at the intimacy of the situation. "Just knock on the door when you're ready for me to charm your hair. We'll need to leave in an hour." He turned and strode into his own room, closing the door behind him.

__

An hour? she thought, forgetting about her embarrassment and feeling slightly panicked instead. It was a good thing she had gotten up early. The man obviously had no idea how long it took women to get ready. She grabbed the bag she needed and went back into the bathroom to don her underwear and slip before applying her makeup with unusual care. She put lipstick on last, blotting her lips and then glancing at the mirror with some nervousness. She would do, she thought. She didn't consider herself particularly beautiful, but her mum was always on about how she _could _be beautiful if she'd only take more trouble with her appearance. In the general run of things, Hermione just couldn't be bothered. She typically stayed up late studying and then tried to get in extra studying in the morning as well. Time in front of a mirror was wasted, she thought, when there were books to be read. So usually she skipped over the makeup and just pulled her hair back into a neat barrette or ponytail. When she did trouble herself for special occasions and spent extra time on her appearance, she was always a bit surprised and a trifle uncomfortable by the sight of herself in the mirror. It had always seemed to unnerve Harry and Ron as well. They tended to treat her as if she'd been playing some elaborate prank on them – pretending to be one thing when in fact she was something altogether less trustworthy.

She went to put on her new dress robes, shivering a little with the luxurious feeling of the silk against her skin. She did up the fastenings and turned before the mirror. A shame, really, that she was going somewhere where no one would even know her. It would be fun to debut this outfit at a Hogwarts ball. Well, perhaps she still could sometime.

That left only the hair. Her own hair was a rats' nest of tangled, damp curls, and she was a bit relieved that she wouldn't have to bother with it, but she felt terribly silly about having to ask Snape to do something about it. She remembered his earlier comment about makeup and beauty secrets and giggled a little as she went to knock at the door. He answered immediately, fully dressed for the evening and obviously waiting on her. She looked at him in surprise. He looked, well, _different _from the man who had taught her for the last six years. His dress robes were actually not terribly dissimilar from his school robes; both were black, of course, but the dress robes were of a thinner, finer fabric she couldn't immediately identify and seemed to be cut less fully, as were her own. The greatest difference was that his hair was pulled back, secured in a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. Without the curtain of lank hair framing his face, he looked much less forbidding and considerably younger. 

He seemed a bit surprised by her appearance as well though he betrayed himself with only the slightest flicker of a glance that travelled up and down her slim form. He said nothing, however; he merely drew out his wand and turned his attention to her hair. "I could do this better with a potion," he muttered, and her eyes widened at him.

"Professor, please tell me you know what you're doing," she said threateningly. She'd always hated her hair, but she wasn't willing to trade it for the results of a botched glamour charm.

"Of course I do," he snapped. "It's just that if I had one of Cassandra's hair samples I could brew a potion that would match her hair exactly. This will be an approximation."

"I feel sure that will be fine," she answered, slightly reassured. "Personally, I'm a bit leery of potions involving hair samples."

He snorted. "There's a reason we don't allow second years to brew Polyjuice, Miss Granger."

"I didn't know you knew about that." She gave him an embarrassed smile.

The familiar scathing look again. "Of course I knew. It was just one of many times when you and your friends underestimated the Hogwarts staff and overestimated your own abilities. You were lucky it wasn't worse."

"It wasn't _entirely_ luck, Professor," she said defensively. "I was perfectly capable of brewing that potion as a second year. It worked fine for Harry and Ron. I would say that you underestimate _my_ abilities far more than I do yours."

"And perhaps it just appears that way," he told her, smirking at the incredulous look on her face as she made sense of his words. "Now, entertaining though it is, I suggest we save this conversation for a time when we don't have a pressing dinner engagement. Hold still and let me get this over with." He pointed his wand at her hair. "_Folliculus flagrare_."

She turned and saw that her hair had become the same raven black of his own, but that it was also the same tangled mess she had started with. The colour was fine, she supposed - though it would take a little getting used to - but she had somehow imagined that the change would be greater than what she could have accomplished herself with an inexpensive box of Muggle hair colouring.

Apparently Snape agreed. "No, that won't do at all," he said, examining her critically. "No Snape ever born had hair like that." He pointed his wand at her head again and said, "_Straighten_," and this time she felt a difference as the curls fell out of her hair. She glanced in the mirror again and was pleased to see that her hair fell from her scalp in a smooth black curtain.

"_Straighten?_" she asked in disbelief.

"Not terribly poetic, I'll grant you, but effective nonetheless." 

"I'm absolutely livid with myself for not looking it up before," she said, fingering the silky strands. "I'll never have to bother with curls again."

"Sorry," he said dryly. "I should have mentioned that both charms are temporary. They'll wear off in about twenty-four hours."

A thought occurred to her then, and she looked at Snape, startled, before beginning to laugh. The irritation on his face only served to make her laugh harder, until finally she wiped her eyes, noting from the smudge on her hand that her makeup would have to be repaired. "I'm sorry, Professor," she gasped. "I really am. It's just…you're about the farthest thing I can imagine from a fairy godmother."

"Miss Granger, is it possible that you've suddenly lost your mind?" he demanded. 

"I begin to think I have," she said, laughing again, the absurdity of the whole situation catching up with her.

"How delightful. I shall have just enough time to drop you at St. Mungo's before dinner."

"Oh, dinner!" she exclaimed. "I need to finish getting ready."

"I thought you _were_ finished," he said, looking her up and down. 

She pointed at her hair. "Of course not. I can't go like this."

"Of course not," he said sarcastically. "Go, then, and do whatever it is you think you need to do. We should be leaving soon."

She went back into the bathroom and pulled her brush through her new hair, absolutely loving the silky feel of it. Surely there was some more permanent charm for this. She made a mental note to research it as soon as Harry was safely back at Hogwarts and then turned her attention back to the matter at hand. She had no time for anything elaborate and little talent for it even if she'd had the time. She settled for a simple chignon, a style she often wore when working in the potions lab because it kept her hair out of her cauldron. It looked different, sleek and far more elegant now that the fuzzy curls were gone, and she was satisfied that the simplicity of her hairstyle worked well with the delicate robes. She attacked it with hair spray to hold it all in place and then asked the mirror, "What do you think?" 

"Certainly an improvement," the mirror replied testily. Apparently hotel mirrors didn't care to be bothered.

"Thanks loads." 

If the mirror's response was tepid, it was still a great deal more than she got from Snape, who was pacing her small room impatiently and greeted her with, "Finally. Let's go."

She nodded and glanced a bit longingly toward her wand as she made for the door, feeling that she would be much more secure with it than without. He noticed, of course; she was beginning to realize that he noticed everything. 

"Take it," he said. "Keep it concealed in your robes, but take it with you, just in case."

__

Just in case of what? she wondered, but she didn't dare ask. She removed the wand from her dresser and tucked it in the side pocket of her dress robes, and then she stepped out of the door he was holding open for her. They made their way down the stairs, and Snape nodded curtly to Tom the innkeeper as they entered the antechamber. 

"Good evening, Professor," Tom responded pleasantly. "And to you too, Miss Granger. May I say that you're looking very lovely this evening?"

"Thank you," she murmured, feeling extremely self-conscious at the impression they must be giving, two rooms or no.

Snape reached for her upper arm, bringing her to a halt with his firm grip. "Let me check the pub before we walk through. If Hagrid is drinking in there tonight, or anyone else from Hogwarts, we'll have to find another Floo."

"You're right," she said. "I hadn't thought of that."

"That's why I'm in charge." With that infuriating statement, he left her, striding into the pub and checking each nook and cranny carefully before pushing his head back through the door and beckoning to her. He hurried her through to the fireplace and reached for a pinch of Floo powder. "Snape House," he told her, "Mind you speak clearly. I'll go ahead and be waiting on you."

"Yes, sir." She watched as he stepped into the fireplace and wondered why he didn't just Apparate and let her take the Floo – a much less pleasant way to travel. She waited nearly a minute and then followed him, stepping reluctantly into the fireplace, mindful of her new robes. Then came the dizzying rush, and she was stepping into a library that immediately took her breath away. She hardly noticed Snape standing, amused, off to one side as she gasped and took in the proportions of the room filled – absolutely _filled_ – with books. She automatically started for the nearest shelf, hand outstretched, and he chuckled and said, "I'm afraid not, Miss Granger. We have an engagement."

"This is your house?" she asked, still moving toward the shelf and already searching the titles with hungry eyes.

"Yes," he said. "My family's house, rather. I rarely come here. But we're dining with neighbours tonight and since we couldn't Apparate, I thought it would look more convincing if my cousin and I walked from here."

"Your cousin," she said weakly, forgetting the books in an instant. "You never told me anything about her."

"I'm going to do that right now," he said, gesturing for her to sit down in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace and then taking the one opposite her. "We have a few minutes before we have to be there, and it might be best if we're a few minutes late, anyway. I can see who's there, and if there's anyone who might recognize you, I'll have time to change our story."

__

He's really quite good at this, she thought reluctantly. Aloud she said, "Tell me about your cousin."

"As I said before, her name is Cassandra Snape. She's a second cousin, actually. Her father and I are first cousins. Her parents are Damian and Olivia, and they shouldn't be well acquainted with anyone at this party. If asked about them, all you need say is that you left them well, and that Damian is enjoying his retirement. He worked for the Ministry, but it's been many years now since he's even been in England. Cassandra hasn't been here since she was an infant. You actually look very little like her, from the few pictures I've seen, but no one there should know that. She is a rising sixth year at Durmstrang and would thus be a year younger than you are. I really have no idea what her interests and aptitudes are – you should be fine making those up, but it would perhaps be a good idea to feign an interest in Potions, if only because I happen to know the name of the Potions master there…"

"Professor Blinski," she interrupted.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Very good, Miss Granger. May I ask how you know of Pylon Blinski?"

"I do not have to _feign_ an interest in Potions, Professor," she said, a little haughtily. "I've always had an interest, and Viktor and I talked a great deal of our studies."

"Of course," Snape said, with just a trace of his usual sarcasm. "I had forgotten that you had the advantage of actually knowing someone who attended Durmstrang."

"I think I remember enough to discuss my 'studies' with anyone who should happen to ask," she said. "He told me of the place and of his teachers, assuming none of them have changed in the last two years."

"I haven't heard of any changes, other than Karkaroff, of course. The new Headmaster's name is Devious Fink."

She chuckled at that. "Well, _there's_ a name that inspires confidence."

Surprisingly, Snape chuckled along with her. "He seems to have risen above his nomenclature. Dumbledore speaks highly of him." 

"That's good enough for me," Hermione said. "OK, Headmaster Fink. What else, Professor?"

"Well, for tonight – and tonight only, I might add – you will need to call me Severus, or Cousin Severus. I, of course, will call you Cassandra. Do make an effort to respond naturally."

"Severus," she said, trying it out. The name sounded strange on her lips, but she knew he was right – accidentally letting "Professor" slip would undo her persona entirely. 

"I can't think of any other specifics about Cassandra," he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "I plan to tell our hostess that you had an interest in seeing England and visiting Hogwarts and that I have been acting as your guardian during your stay. I trust you are capable of elaborating on that as the situation warrants it, but stick to that basic story. I've taken you to Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and shown you a few of the London sights. Be as vague as possible as to dates and times so that we won't contradict one another."

"I think I can manage that," she said. "But…what exactly is it that we're hoping to find out while we're there? I'm not sure I understand why we're going."

"I'm not entirely sure of that myself," he admitted. "Perhaps I should begin at the beginning and give you the background I promised you this morning."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm assuming Potter has told you of my rather unique…role…in the Order?"

"He has," she said quietly. "He told me you were a former Death Eater who turned spy for Dumbledore."

"Yes. I served in that capacity until the famous _boy who lived _drove Voldemort from power back in 1981, and I resumed that role – very carefully – when Voldemort rose again in your fourth year at Hogwarts. It took a long time to earn his trust again, and even longer to earn the trust of my fellow Death Eaters. I think the only reason Voldemort took the risk – the only reason he didn't kill me on sight – was that he was so desperate to have a Death Eater stationed at Hogwarts. Even Dark Lords make mistakes," he said wryly. "However, he was careful with me; he limited the amount of information I had access to and made sure I never knew of anything of his plans for Potter. Furthermore, he met with me alone or in very small groups. I was never summoned for the larger meetings – and indeed, he had fewer of them than he'd had when I served him before. He didn't want us knowing exactly who our fellow Death Eaters were, something that is proving to be a mixed blessing now."

"You don't know who they are, but they don't know who you are either," she said thoughtfully.

"Exactly," he agreed. "I have been able, this summer, to continue in my double role. I've been able to seek out suspects and convince them that I was in the Dark Lord's service, getting enough information out of them to lead to their conviction."

"What if someone on the Dark side finds out that's what you're doing?" she asked. "That you're the one getting the Death Eaters thrown in Azkaban?"

"Then you'll likely have another Potions teacher next year," he answered, so smoothly that it sent a shiver running through her. She couldn't imagine being so complacent about her own death. "Don't look so horrified, Miss Granger. I am frankly surprised I've made it this long. I knew the risks when I agreed to serve Dumbledore, and I've never regretted my decision. But now, before we leave tonight, I want you to understand that you're taking a risk just by being seen with me. I said that I would send you home if the danger became immediate, but danger doesn't always come with convenient warnings. Have I made you understand the seriousness of what you're involving yourself in?"

She nodded slowly. It was terrifying, but it was for Harry, and she was willing to take the risk for him. "Yes. I still want to help. Just tell me what I should do."

"Mostly just keep your ears open, remember everything you hear, and be able to repeat it to me later. Given your performance in class, you should be ideally suited for such a commission. Just tell yourself I'm going to be giving you a surprise quiz." His mouth twitched a bit, and she knew he was laughing at her. "There will be several people there tonight whom I suspect of being in Voldemort's service. Our host and hostess, I'm pleased to say, are not among that number, but virtually everyone else you should view with a degree of suspicion. You will be a stranger and a foreigner to them and they might well let something slip around you, assuming that you wouldn't understand the reference or be able to put it in its proper context. Just remember all you can, and perhaps you'll hear something that will help us."

"Something about Harry?"

"Not directly, no. I've heard rumours that someone wants to kidnap Potter, but I doubt they will be making the rounds at dinner parties."

"Why, sir? Why kidnap him? Why not just kill him if they hate him so much?"

Snape sighed. It was so difficult to explain this to Gryffindors. "You may not fully appreciate this yet, Miss Granger, but your friend Potter is the most powerful wizard in the world. He's impulsive, he's not fully trained, and he's _damned_ annoying, but he is immensely powerful. Wizards who went over to the Dark side generally did it for one reason: they are attracted to power. They crave it for themselves and they admire it in others. Dark Magic is powerful magic. Even as it does its evil work, it preys on the mind of the witch or wizard practicing it. It can change the person irrevocably with its seductive pull. When Potter killed Voldemort, he did it using the Darkest of the Unforgivables, and he did it without a wand. I never heard of even Voldemort casting Avada Kedavra without a wand. I think it's safe to say Potter's the only wizard in the world who could do it. Now, thanks to him, we have a bunch of former Death Eaters without a Dark Lord to follow. I think some of them may have taken it into their heads to create their own Dark Lord from the only wizard in the world powerful enough to lead them."

Hermione had grown increasingly horrified as Snape's meaning became clear to her. "_No_, Professor. Harry would _never_ do something like that. He couldn't."

"I didn't think he would either, but…" 

"No," she said again. "No buts. I know Harry. He would die first."

"Black said the same thing," Snape said, looking down at his hands. "And I agreed with him at the time, but then, last night, when Black died…we both heard the threats Potter made." He looked up and met Hermione's eyes, and he was utterly serious, without a hint of sarcasm or a trace of his usual sneer. "He _meant_ those threats. He has proven that given the right provocation, he has the potential for Dark Magic. It may be because of the transfer of powers that took place when he got his scar. We know that's where he got the ability to speak Parseltongue, anyway. Or it's more likely that he's always had it. I think most witches and wizards do, to one degree or another. Some of us are just more susceptible to its lure. But I think there might be circumstances under which Potter could…change from the boy you know into someone very different."

"We've got to find him," she said urgently, fighting a ridiculous urge to stand up, race out the door, and go running through the neighbourhood calling Harry's name. 

"Yes, we do. But we also have to find out who it is that's after him. I normally detest affairs like the one we're going to tonight, but knowing what the guest list would likely be, I decided it might be useful to attend. Just do as I said – keep your ears open, and be careful not to give yourself away. I need not tell you how disastrous it would be for both of us if word got out that I was attempting to pass one of my students off as my cousin at dinner parties."

"Sir, your warning about their views on Muggle-borns was sufficient to put me fully on my guard. Frankly, the thought of mere social embarrassment pales in comparison."

"Whatever it takes," he said with a dismissive wave. "We should probably go now."

"OK," she said, standing up. "Professor?"

"Yes?" He stood up, too, and shook out his robes.

"When you said this morning that you would let me help you and that you would tell me all you could, I was pleased, but…well, I didn't really expect you to be quite as forthcoming as you've been tonight. I…er..thank you. I appreciate your trust in me."

His voice was low as he replied. "You're welcome, Miss Granger. Don't you dare let me down."


	11. Dining with Death Eaters

Encumbering himself with the Granger girl was one of the most irrational decisions Severus Snape had made in some time. It annoyed him that he couldn't defend it properly to himself; he refused to even consider what he was going to say in the inevitable conversation with Albus Dumbledore. He had reached his decision via a network of vague impressions and gut feelings, and since he attributed his continued existence to similar impulses, he had learned to trust them even when they made absolutely no intellectual sense. 

But that didn't mean he had to like it. 

It had long infuriated him that the most brilliant and hardworking student he had taught in - well, the most brilliant and hardworking student he had _ever_ taught - was wrapped in such an aggravating package. Why did she have to be a Gryffindor? Why did she have to be friends with _Harry Potter_ of all people? She had been positively insufferable as a child – always with her hand waving in the air, intimidating the other students with her knowledge. He had dealt with that over time, however, and now – at least in _his_ classes – she was subtler. She rarely raised her hand at all anymore, generally only offering up the correct information when her fellow students had thoroughly demonstrated their ignorance. 

And somehow, that irritated him too. Just _once_, he would have liked for her to be dead wrong about something. He'd have gladly paid to replace her cauldron himself if she'd humoured him by melting it through some egregious error of her own. His job provided him with so few pleasures; humiliating Hermione Granger for a lapse in class would be like receiving a rare bonus. He had never yet been given the chance, but occasionally, when he was most annoyed with her, he amused himself by thinking of her disastrous Polyjuice potion in her second year. He had hurried to the infirmary when Poppy Pomfrey had told him of her symptoms and had looked in on her while she was sleeping, just so he could see the effects for himself. It was the hardest he'd laughed in quite some time. While he was charming her hair before the dinner at the King's, she had given him the perfect opening to mention the failed Polyjuice effort, and he had been disappointed to learn that Potter and Weasley had used the potion successfully. He had grown rather fond of remembering the incident as Granger's biggest failure, and now it had to be mentally re-classified as only a mitigated failure.

Had she been a Slytherin, she would have been the only student who had ever made his teaching career tolerable. Slytherins never waved their hands in the air, no matter how well they knew the answer. Slytherins never helped mental-deficients like Longbottom, realizing that the Longbottoms of the world were best left to natural selection. Most of all, Slytherins were _not _friends with Harry Potter. Unfortunately, he couldn't argue with the Sorting Hat. Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor through and through, and it was no wonder that she was the darling of every other teacher on the staff. They all just adored bright girls who were willing to engage in class discussions – or to carry them single-handedly if need be - and help the less-able students. 

His opinion of his fellow staff members being what it was, their adoration of the Granger girl only served to make her less appealing to him, rather than more. He respected Dumbledore immensely and McGonagall moderately but had no use for the rest of them at all and deliberately kept himself separate from the staff. He cultivated distance and privacy with every tool in his arsenal – his personal appearance, his vicious tongue, and his absence from virtually every activity not strictly required by his teaching contract. He was the only teacher whose classroom and private quarters were in the dungeon, so he was cut off from his colleagues by the geography of the castle as well. He liked it that way. After a day of unrelieved irritation – which described every day he'd ever spent teaching – he wanted nothing more than to be alone, and he enjoyed the seclusion of the castle's depths.

He wished he were there right now.

Instead, he was standing in the library of his father's home, waiting for one of his least favourite students to join him via the Floo. He intended to give her a proper scare before they left for the King's, but he didn't really think the warnings were necessary – at least for tonight. It would be quite awkward if she betrayed her true identity, but it really shouldn't be dangerous, unless the guest list was other than he expected it to be. They would not like having a Muggle-born in their midst, but they also wouldn't harm her if she were there under his protection. In his owl to their hostess, he had expressed his hope that her son Gregor would be there and suggested that his 'cousin' would enjoy the presence of another young person. If he knew Delia King, she would take the hint, and if he knew Gregor King, Hermione would be occupied for the evening. That would leave him free to find out what he could from Horatio Barter, and Barter was the man he was really hoping to see.

When Hermione stepped through the fireplace, dusting off her pale robes, he couldn't resist a chuckle when she headed straight for the books. The girl was so predictable. Still a bookworm, even in princess raiment.

As they sat down and he went over the details of her persona for the evening, he was reluctantly impressed by her grasp of the essentials and by the fact that she didn't waste his time by asking stupid questions. It was a bonus that she'd had some contact with Krum; it would add verisimilitude to her act. The discussion about Potter was difficult, as he had known it would be. Potter had been canonized for something that had happened when he was too young even to remember it, and belief in Harry Potter as an incorruptible force of good was widespread in the wizarding world. His friends should have known better, of course. They knew him, knew his failings, and had seen first-hand that he was a decidedly normal boy, albeit one with unusual magical powers. But power alone – even victory over Voldemort – didn't guarantee that he would always make the right choices. Potter had _done_ great good without actually choosing good, and unless the Granger girl could understand that, she would never be able to appreciate the danger that faced her friend now. 

He thought, perhaps, that he'd gotten through to her. He saw the moment the panic entered her eyes, the moment she said, "We've got to find him!" He saw then that she had caught a glimpse of the Darkness that could claim Harry Potter if he fell into the wrong hands. He doubted that she appreciated the potential ramifications. She was a teenager, Potter was someone she loved, and she couldn't see much past the danger he faced personally.

Snape could. He knew first-hand the lure of the Dark and the widespread damage that could be inflicted by a single powerful wizard bent on doing evil. He had bowed down and kissed that wizard's robes, had done his bidding for a time, had allowed his own talents to be exploited for the sake of that wizard's despicable cause. It had been difficult – nearly impossible – for him to turn away, and even after he had, he had been tempted many times to abandon Dumbledore and embrace the darkness again. In agreeing to serve as a spy, he had placed himself in an addict's purgatory, forcing himself to make the same difficult choice again and again. 

It was possible that he was wrong about Potter and the rest of the wizarding world was right. It was possible, but it wasn't a chance he was willing to take. Potter was still too young and there were too many things he didn't understand. He had to be found, and if there were even the slightest chance that the Granger girl could help find him, Snape would find some way to tolerate her. If nothing else, he would be able to keep an eye on her, keep her out of trouble. He'd be damned if he'd go looking for another Gryffindor this summer.

They rose to go, and she thanked him for being so forthright. He laughed inwardly; he'd barely scratched the surface, but she seemed to feel they had become deepest confidantes. Foolish girl.

Another threat, and they were off.

______________________________________________

Looking back on it, Hermione would realize how many cherished preconceptions had begun to crumble with that quiet, disturbing conversation in the library of Snape's family home. With the benefit of hindsight, the evening became one of the pivotal moments in her life, one that altered the course she had set for herself and forced her to question truths she had believed incontrovertible. She'd had other such moments of import; the day she got her letter from Hogwarts was an obvious one. Everything she'd ever believed she was or wanted to be changed when she held the letter in her hand that told her she was a witch. That moment had constructed a brilliant, colourful mural of possibilities within her mind, and she had begun exploring them with characteristic enthusiasm. In contrast, the conversation with Snape presented her with shadowy possibilities, faint outlines waiting for the firmer touch of the artist's hand, so vague in form as to be unrecognisable until much later. 

She had never presumed to "know" Severus Snape. She'd long since given up on winning his approbation in the classroom and for years had given little thought to him at all beyond her fervent desire to be someplace he wasn't. A part of her still clung to the childish belief that teachers existed only in the classroom and that the face they showed to their students was the only one they actually possessed. She had a slightly more personal acquaintance with her Head of House, but even so, she knew nothing of Minerva McGonagall's life, nothing of whatever laughs, loves, and fears she might have had. Intellectually, she knew there must have been some – no one could have achieved McGonagall's age without having _something _happen beyond teaching Transfiguration and disciplining Gryffindors, but she had no real desire to know what those things were. She took comfort in the single, simplistic face her teachers presented to their students. Ergo, Severus Snape was horrible. He hated Gryffindors. He hated Harry Potter. He refused to acknowledge her superior grasp of his subject. He sadistically terrorized defenceless students like Neville Longbottom just because he could. He might be brilliant – she always had conceded that – but he abused his power as a teacher and was unworthy of her respect, no matter how often she gave lip service to it by calling him 'sir' or 'Professor.' 

After six years in his classroom, she would not have believed that her position on Snape could change with a simple conversation. And it didn't change that instant, or even that day, but those shadowy outlines were there, taking form in her mind and suggesting that perhaps there was more to Severus Snape than she had believed possible. He had unflinchingly told her of his history as a spy and a Death Eater – had told her as if she actually had some right to the information. He had forced her to open her eyes about Harry and about the forces of good and evil, and in doing so, he had ripped her out of her comfort zone defined by Gryffindor absolutes, and he had done it with a gentleness and concern that she would have thought impossible for him. He was risking his life, not just for Harry but also for the sake of the entire world, and he was trusting _her_ to help _him_. Had the enormity of that particular realization dawned on her in the library, she might well have stepped back into the fireplace, convinced that she couldn't possibly succeed. It didn't, however, and she followed him out of the library and through the darkened halls of the house with a confidence she had no right to feel.

The house was closed up, shrouded in heavy draperies, and it was a surprise to emerge from the gloom and find that it was still daylight outside. They crossed a porch and stepped down into a small garden, which she noticed featured some plants she had only seen in the Hogwarts greenhouses – another subtle reminder that this was a wizard's home. He opened a gate and indicated a pathway that led a short distance to the house next door. This was no huge estate – just a comfortably proportioned English house with attractive if somewhat overgrown lawns and gardens. He had referred to it as his family's home. She wondered vaguely what family he had and where they were since they apparently weren't at home. Her musings were interrupted when he paused and offered her his arm, and she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, taking a degree of comfort from his strength and the warmth of human contact as she walked into the unknown. 

He led the way silently up the front steps of the neighbours' home and rapped at the door with a sure hand. The door was opened not by a house-elf, as she'd imagined, but instead by a pleasant-looking, slightly matronly witch – their hostess, she assumed. The older woman greeted Snape with a degree of affection and enthusiasm she had never seen anyone display towards him before. He didn't exactly reciprocate the warmth of her greeting, but he seemed less forbidding than usual as he kissed the cheek she offered and then turned to introduce Hermione. "Delia, may I present my cousin Cassandra. Cassandra, this is our hostess, Delia King."

"My dear!" Delia exclaimed, ushering them into the bright foyer. "I was so pleased when Severus owled that you would be joining us this evening. How are your parents? It's been an age since I've heard anything of them."

"I left them quite well, thank you, Mrs King," Hermione answered pleasantly, and she felt Snape's sharp glance as he apparently picked up the faint trace of a foreign accent to her English. "I appreciate your including me tonight. I hope it wasn't an inconvenience."

"Not at all, dear, not at all." The older woman beamed at her. "Please, Cassandra, call me Delia. Severus is like family to us, for all that he rarely comes around anymore." She shot Snape an accusatory look and softened it with a laugh. "His family is ours."

Since Delia had answered the door herself, they hadn't been able to see the other guests before committing to their farce, and Hermione knew that the role of Cassandra Snape was now hers to play. The accent had been a last-minute decision. She thought, on the whole, that regardless of the fact that her parents were British, Cassandra Snape's accent would probably be less than pure since she had been raised outside of Great Britain. She added a faint trace of Viktor's accent to her own, and hoped that it would do. She murmured her thanks to her hostess and then took Snape's arm again as they followed Delia King into the drawing room where the other guests were already gathered. There were only five other people in the room, but to her it seemed a crowd, each one someone she had to convince. The next few moments were given over to a blur of introductions to the collection of elegantly-dressed witches and wizards. She was certain she wouldn't be able to remember everyone's name, but she made every effort to imprint what she could on her brain, remembering Snape's promise of a pop quiz later. 

Their host, Sartus King, was the antithesis of his wife. He was tall and thin to her short and stout, bland and phlegmatic where she was effusive and verbose. Still, he greeted her politely and Snape with a slightly greater degree of enthusiasm before introducing her to the couple he had been talking with when they came in. 

Mr and Mrs Horatio Barter were of approximately the same age as the Kings and also seemed to have known Snape his entire life. Mrs Barter, in particular, managed to convey through her tone and manner that she still saw Severus Snape as a child. Hermione found this terribly funny and decided that Cassandra Snape found it funny as well. When Mrs Barter commented on how thin Snape looked and asked him if they were feeding him enough at Hogwarts, Hermione flashed him a grin, which he of course did not return.

"Oh Sylvia, let the boy alone," Mr Barter growled. He had hair which was greying but had obviously been very dark at one time and his black eyes and the swarthy colour of his skin suggested that his family had hailed from somewhere other than Britain. He was heavy-set and was the only person there who Hermione felt might be viewing her with a degree of suspicion. Her tendency to view _him_ with suspicion was somewhat mitigated when she found that he was the owner of a wizarding publishing company. The man published _books_ for a living. Her eyes lit up as she heard the name of his company, Presto Press, and realized that they had published _Hogwarts: A History_ along with countless other books she had read. She was on the verge of asking him more when she felt the pressure of Snape's hand at the small of her back and heard his dry chuckle. 

"I believe you've piqued Cassandra's interest, Horatio. She has a reputation at her school as quite a bookworm." 

She pursed her mouth with obvious displeasure at that, and the older couple laughed. "Well, publishing isn't really all that interesting," Barter said. "A pretty young girl like you would probably be bored within five minutes if I started talking shop."

Hermione objected to that statement on so many levels that it would have been difficult for her to know where to begin to formulate a response, but the hand on her back was telling her that she needed to let the subject drop, and so she did. Reluctantly.

"If you'll excuse us," Snape said with a small nod, "I should introduce Cassandra to the Sharps."

The Sharps were the couple she liked best of all on first meeting. They reminded her, in fact, very much of the Weasleys. Lydia Sharp greeted her warmly and then immediately began talking about the recent birth of her first grandchild and dragging out pictures of the child. Hermione was amused to note that they resembled Muggle pictures because the baby wasn't doing anything in them except sleeping. Hermione made polite noises about the baby while Snape barely gave it a glance and changed the subject as quickly as possible. Kenan Sharp owned a small apothecary's shop in Hogsmeade, one that she had patronized many times, and she had a moment of panic wondering if he might recognize her, though she couldn't remember ever having seen him in there before. Mr Sharp asked if she'd had a chance to visit Hogsmeade yet, and she told him that yes, she had, but that she didn't remember his business specifically. 

On the whole, she felt that things were going better than she had expected. Everyone seemed very pleasant and genuinely pleased to see "Cassandra" back in England, and she marvelled at the fact that any one of them might be a Death Eater. The very name conjured up horrific images that seemed incompatible with the terribly _normal_ group of people gathered in the room. Except for the robes, they could have been a group of her parents' friends.

Delia King suddenly seized Hermione's arm as she spotted a young man with an unruly mop of brown curls coming through the door. "Gregor!" she exclaimed. "There you are. You've been an age, dear." She practically dragged Hermione away from the Sharps and across the room. "Cassandra, I'd like you to meet my son Gregor. Gregor, this is Cassandra Snape, Severus's young cousin. Isn't that wonderful?"

Gregor grinned down at her, and she found herself automatically returning the smile. "I'd wager it's more wonderful being his cousin than it was being his student," he said in a low voice, automatically glancing across the room at Snape to make sure he hadn't been overheard. "It's nice to meet you, Cassandra."

"It's nice to meet you, too," she answered. "I take it you went to Hogwarts, then." It was all she could do not to laugh at the comment about being Snape's student. She had a feeling that she could easily top whatever Gregor King had experienced at Snape's hands.

"Yep. Finished seven years ago. Are you in school?"

"Yes, I'll be a sixth year at Durmstrang."

Delia beamed on them. "I'll just leave you two young people to get better acquainted," she said, practically pushing Hermione towards her son. 

When she had left them alone, Gregor smiled at her again and shook his head ruefully. "Sorry about that," he said. "Apparently, you've passed the mother test."

"I don't mind," she said, realizing it was true. Gregor seemed nice, and she hadn't anticipated finding anyone remotely close to her own age at this party. "My mum's the same way, always on about when I'll meet a nice boy."

"I shouldn't think that would be a problem," he answered, and then he looked a bit embarrassed.

"You'd be surprised," she said. "I'm a bit bookish. The boys don't seem to like that."

"Ah, so you're the girl who always knows the answer then, always has her hand in the air?"

The description was so apt that she started in surprise. "I guess I am, at that," she said, a bit apologetically.

"Well, I'll forgive you, if you'll forgive me for being the kind of bloke who always tries to copy your homework."

She burst out laughing. "Deal."

"Here," he said, stopping a passing house elf and handing her a glass of wine. "Take this and let's find someplace to sit down away from all these old people. I hate these things, but mum insisted I had to come tonight. Now I'm glad she did."

She blushed at that but followed him to a corner and sat chatting with him until dinner was announced. She felt Snape's dark eyes on her occasionally as she and Gregor talked, and she tried to read any message he might be attempting to send her, but he looked more amused than anything else, so she relaxed and enjoyed the company. They talked of their respective schools, and she thoroughly enjoyed hearing about Hogwarts from his point of view, asking him questions about his experiences there. She was glad she didn't have to attempt total ignorance of Hogwarts – that might have proven too difficult – but she had told him that Snape had given her a tour of the castle and grounds and introduced her to some of the staff, so she was able to refer to places and people specifically without having it look suspicious.

"I take it from your earlier comment that you didn't enjoy my cousin's classes," she said with a smile.

"Nobody did much," Gregor said, a little apologetically, as if he didn't want to hurt her feelings by insulting Snape, which she found hysterically funny. "He's not exactly…er, _friendly_ in class. Granted, he was pretty decent to me. I was in his House and an old family friend and all that, but it didn't guarantee my grades. I was crap at Potions and passed my N.E.W.T. by the skin of my teeth."

She hadn't thought of that. She was sitting here laughing and talking – and maybe flirting just a little – with a _Slytherin_. Harry would be appalled if he heard of it, but really, who knew they could be so nice? Of course, in the back of her mind was the knowledge that, as nice as Delia King had seemed, she probably would hex Hermione straight out the door if she were to find out that her son was consorting with a Mudblood. Somehow, that fact struck her as pretty amusing too. 

It did not surprise her when she and Gregor were seated next to one another at dinner. Snape was directly across from them and addressed himself to Gregor as dinner was served. "Mr King," he said in his classroom voice. "I notice that you've been monopolizing my young cousin's attentions this evening." Hermione detected the slightest emphasis on the word _young_ and risked a glare across the table.

Gregor looked a bit discomfited but replied readily enough. "I suppose I have, Professor. I've enjoyed her company."

"He told me a bit about what it's like having you as a teacher, Severus," she dared. 

"All complimentary, I'm sure," he drawled. 

"Oh, of course," she assured him, without a trace of sincerity.

"Do you share Severus's interest in Potions?" asked Kenan Sharp, who was seated next to Snape.

"I do," she said. "I enjoy Potions very much, but of course, I don't claim the same level of expertise as my cousin."

"Well, I'm sure it pleases him to see you taking an interest," Sharp said heartily.

"Actually, Mr Sharp, I've found him quite difficult to please when it comes to Potions," she said. "His standards are very high."

Completely oblivious to the subtext of the conversation, Gregor said, "Well, if you think he's tough on you, you should see how he treats the Gryffindors."

For the first time that evening, Hermione faltered in her role, reaching quickly for her napkin and wiping her mouth to cover her smile. She looked down at her plate to avoid meeting her 'cousin's' eyes, sure that his face would be arranged in a familiar black glare, and was astonished to hear him chuckle along with the rest of the table. "I find that Gryffindors require extra training in areas other than just Potions," he said to Gregor. "My classroom methods reflect that view." He then smoothly changed the subject. "Mr King, if I recall correctly, you were quite a Quidditch fan. Did Cassandra tell you that she is acquainted with Viktor Krum?"

"I hadn't thought of that!" Gregor said, obviously pleased. "I guess you would be. How well do you know him?"

Hermione thought that she must be destined to be forever surrounded by males who were obsessive on the topic of Quidditch. Ironically, Viktor had been one of the few boys she had ever known who _didn't_ talk Quidditch incessantly. They had found other areas of common interest, and he had rarely talked about Quidditch at all. But apparently, Gregor was more like Harry and Ron, and he was clearly awed by the fact that she knew Viktor Krum, who by now was playing professional Quidditch full time and was an international star. "We're friends," she said truthfully, "still in touch occasionally by owl. He travels a great deal, of course." 

Even the older men at the table seemed impressed by this, and when it came out that she and Viktor had once attended a ball together, they all looked at her with increased respect. _Honestly_, she thought. _What a silly thing to be impressed by. _Snape looked pleased at the change of subject, however, so she allowed it to continue until it was exhausted, and then the men began talking about recent changes in Ministry policy. Voldemort was never mentioned by name, but it was implied that the recent changes were the direct result of his defeat the previous year.

"What about Hogwarts, Severus? Any changes there?"

"I won't know for sure until the term begins," Snape answered. "I've travelled a great deal this summer and haven't spoken to the old man very regularly. There's no telling what he'll come up with though, if previous years are anything to go by."

__

The old man? Hermione thought, shocked. _And that derisive tone. Surely he couldn't mean Dumbledore?_

Barter snorted. "You're right. The man hires giants and werewolves – to teach _children_ – and lets in so many Mudbloods you can hardly call it a wizarding school anymore. How you stand it there I'll never know, Severus."

Snape gave Barter a tight smile. "I have my reasons for staying on at Hogwarts, Horatio."

"Of course, of course," Barter said, waving his hand. "I'm just saying that someone ought to give you a medal for sticking it out."

Hermione was furious, of course, but she kept her face arranged in a mask of polite disinterest, as if the goings-on at Hogwarts were nothing to do with her.

"What about Potter?" Barter asked.

"What about Potter?" Snape repeated coldly. "The old man will probably re-name one of the Houses after him."

"Bloody well better not be Slytherin," Sharp said, and Hermione saw the others at the table nod heads in agreement.

"I just wondered if he'd suffered any effects that weren't mentioned in the paper," Barter persisted. "Thought maybe he wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts this term after what happened last spring."

"Horatio," Snape drawled, "I don't have that kind of luck."

Even Hermione joined in the laughter at that, and she felt a surge of admiration for the way Snape was managing the conversation, giving so little away and using humour to deflect attention from that fact. That the humour was at Harry's expense didn't trouble her at all; she was so used to Snape abusing Harry that it simply didn't faze her anymore.

"Gregor," she asked, "Do you know Harry Potter?"

Gregor shook his head. "No," he said. "He started at Hogwarts just after I finished up. I know a couple of the Weasley brothers, though. Their kid brother is the one who was killed last spring." He said it carelessly, as if Ron's death was utterly meaningless, and Hermione froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She felt Snape's eyes on her and drew a deep breath.

"That's a shame," she said quietly. 

Gregor shrugged. "They took it pretty hard, I think. Bill Weasley's not a bad guy, actually, for all that his father is completely barmy."

This was just getting worse. She realized now why Snape had said she didn't have the experience for this. Her emotions were roiling just beneath the surface, and she wasn't sure she had what it took to keep them in check. She wanted to scream, to throw her plate against the wall, to tell these people that the 'kid brother's' name was Ron Weasley and that he had been one of her two best friends in all the world, and her other best friend just might not be returning to Hogwarts because someone wanted to kidnap him and brainwash him into something as horrible as they were. She wanted to do all of that and more, and Snape must have known it because he laughed and said casually, "Now let's don't get started on Arthur Weasley stories or we'll be here all night. Lydia, tell us some more about that new baby."

Hermione shot him a grateful look and hoped that no one else noticed. She knew full well that he'd rather sample one of Neville's potions than listen to Lydia Sharp natter on about a baby, but she was immensely thankful for the change of subject.

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully – for her, anyway. She didn't hear anything she could remotely connect with Harry but did her best to keep her ears open as Snape had told her to. Mostly the older couples talked about mutual friends and business matters. It all struck her as deadly dull, but at least it made it easy to stick to her role.

After dinner was over, Gregor managed to manoeuvre her outside to the garden, away from his parents and their friends. He assumed he was doing her a favour, and even though she'd have rather stayed inside where she might have heard something useful, she let him believe that she was much happier outside. She hadn't forgiven him for his indifferent comments about Ron's death, despite telling herself that he didn't _know _Ron and there was no reason it should be personal to him the way it was to her. She couldn't view him in the same way she had before dinner, but he was pleasant enough company and willing enough to talk about himself that she didn't feel too pressured about keeping up her persona. As they talked, Gregor moved closer to her on the bench until his arm was resting just above her shoulders, and she was beginning to think she might be called upon to do more than just keep her ears open. She had not imagined that kissing Slytherins would be a part of her job description and did not particularly relish the thought, no matter how pleasant she had found Gregor initially. 

"So, er, what do you do, Gregor?" she asked, trying to scoot a bit farther down the bench.

"I work for Mr Barter. Started just out of Hogwarts."

"Oh! You're in publishing too, then. How exciting!"

He chuckled. "Publishing? Exciting? Not to me. I'd die of boredom in a week. No, I work for one of the subsidiaries of the publishing company. It's not exactly advertised, if you know what I mean, but it's not a deep secret either."

"Sounds interesting," she said lightly. "So what do you do?"

"I work with magical creatures – capturing them, that is, and caring for them until they're purchased. It was my best subject at Hogwarts, so I was really glad when Mr Barter offered me the position. We have certain breeds we keep in stock pretty much all the time and others we find only on special request. Those are the best jobs of all – lots of travel, you know, usually to the most interesting places."

"That's fascinating," Hermione said truthfully. She wondered if Norbert had passed through Gregor's hands. 

"It's the best job in the world," he said enthusiastically. "My partner and I were diving for Grindylows last week, and a couple of weeks before that, we had an order to gather Ashwinder eggs. Never done that before."

"It sounds terribly dangerous."

"Can be, if you don't know what you're doing. My partner and I managed it without a single burn," he bragged.

"Have you ever been injured?"

"Oh sure – lots of times. Not seriously though. Mr Barter keeps a mediwitch on staff, and I've never had anything happen that she couldn't fix. It's funny – you tend to get hurt by the least dangerous beasts. You might get careless when you're dealing with a Hinkypunk or a Kappa. But when you're up against a quintaped or a dragon, you don't relax for a minute."

Hermione shuddered. "I should think not." 

Gregor chuckled. "Girls always think my job is terrifying. But really, once you've had the proper training, it's not so bad. Exciting, but not that dangerous."

Hermione doubted that very much and thought it hypocritical in the extreme for someone with such an obvious death wish to call sweet Arthur Weasley "barmy." A fascination with Muggles seemed quite sane to her compared with what Gregor was describing. It was a shame Slytherins were so prejudiced against Giants; had it not been for that, Gregor and Hagrid would have gotten along famously. She allowed him to continue talking about his work, bragging about various exploits until she was thoroughly sick of hearing about magical creatures and began trying to come up with a way to get back in the house where she might hear something interesting. 

Gregor seemed to sense the fact that her interest was waning and changed the subject, moving still closer on the garden bench. "How much longer will you be in England, Cassandra?" Gregor's voice was soft, very near her ear.

Snape hadn't told her how long "Cassandra's" visit would be, so she improvised. "Probably another week or so," she answered, trying to scoot still further down the bench. "School starts soon, so I'll have to be getting back."

"Can I see you again before you go?"

__

No, I'll be busy trying to help my Potions professor find Harry Potter before some mysterious kidnapper catches up with him and turns him into the next Dark Lord. Hmmm. On second thought, that wouldn't do at all."I'm…not sure what plans my cousin has made for us." True enough, that, if you didn't count the 'cousin' part.

"I know he's your cousin and all, but I _promise_ I'm more fun than Snape." That was definitely a soft kiss near her ear. Oh no…

She giggled, more from sheer nervousness than anything else. "I have no doubt of that," she said, wishing that Snape would get his gloomy arse out there and rescue her before things went any further. 

He turned her face and kissed her softly, his lips brushing over hers. She was going to kill Snape for this, she truly was, and when she caught up with Harry she was going to kill him too. Slowly. With pain. 

OK, so Gregor wasn't actually a bad kisser – at least according to her limited experience. He wasn't attacking her or anything. She could stick this another minute, as long as it didn't go any further…

She felt a finger trail softly along the neckline of her robes. That was _it_, she decided, pulling away from him. Not even for Harry was this Slytherin going to be allowed to do _that_. "Er, I should probably go find Severus," she said, a little breathlessly.

"I understand," he said, backing off immediately, to her very great relief. He smiled at her. "But I still would like to see you again before you leave England."

"Perhaps we can work that out." She wanted to be encouraging enough to leave him thinking highly of Cassandra Snape, but vague enough that she wouldn't be breaking any promises if she never saw him again. Really, this thinking like a Slytherin was exhausting.

_______________________________________________

Snape watched with amusement as Gregor manoeuvred Hermione outside to the garden. The boy was so predictable; he'd always lost what little sense he had in the presence of a pretty girl. He didn't worry about Hermione at all. In fact, he rather liked the chances of Gregor getting his face slapped before the evening was out. He even looked forward to hearing about it during her debriefing. He'd always been amused by the righteous indignation of Gryffindors.

With Hermione out of the way, Snape accepted a drink from his host and stuck close to Horatio Barter. He had been intrigued by Barter's question about Potter returning to Hogwarts. It seemed likely that he had at least heard the same rumours that Snape had heard. It remained to be seen whether his involvement in the scheme went any further than that. Instead of cooperatively giving him an opening, Barter and Sharp began discussing the publication of a new Herbology book. Snape nearly swore in frustration. Why did Barter have to choose tonight of all nights to remember that he was a publisher? It had been years since he'd taken an active interest in his publishing business.

What with the large meal, the brandy, and the paralysing conversation, Snape felt his attention begin to wander. He noted the women off to one side looking at photographs – probably talking about that bloody baby again. He had taught both of the baby's parents and felt strongly that its chances of being anything other than spectacularly average were remote indeed, for all that Lydia Sharp seemed to feel it was the most glorious little wizard to ever don a nappy. He'd probably be forced to teach the little nitwit one day, he thought with a mental sigh of disgust.

Sartus King was listening to the discussion about the Herbology book, but he didn't seem any more interested than Snape. Instead, he stood quietly by, refilling his glass rather more frequently than his neighbours. Snape knew from experience that his host would be practically unconscious by the time the guests left. 

"Sartus, I believe I'll have another one, too," he heard Sharp say, and then Kenan and Sartus wandered off together toward the bar, leaving him alone with Barter.

"Severus, I admit I'm surprised to see you here tonight," Barter said heartily. "You've gotten quite a reputation for declining invitations these last few years."

"My work at Hogwarts keeps me busy," Snape said smoothly. "It's nothing more than that, I assure you."

"Well, your timing tonight is fortuitous. I was going to owl you to request a meeting. I have a favour I'd like to discuss with you."

"Oh?" 

"I'd prefer to discuss it privately, at my office if you don't mind."

__

And even if I do, Snape thought. Aloud he said, "Certainly, Horatio. When would you like to meet?"

"Tomorrow wouldn't be too soon. Say noon, at my office?"

"I'll look forward to it." Snape gave the older man a brief nod.

"There's something else I wanted to ask you about," Barter said, giving Snape an appraising look. "Lucius."

Snape felt the dread settling heavily in the pit of his stomach, but years of a double life helped him keep his countenance. "Terrible, wasn't it?" he asked, infusing his voice with bewildered regret.

Sharp and King rejoined them then. "We were just discussing Lucius," Barter told them. "I was wondering if Severus had heard the rumours."

Snape shrugged. "I understood he was killed by the Aurors. Is there more to it than that?"

"The story is a bit dodgy," Barter said. "I haven't been able to figure out how the Aurors even could have found Lucius. He went into hiding when the Dark Lord was defeated, and we all know that when a Malfoy hides, finding him is no simple task. Hell, _I_ didn't even know where the slippery bastard was, and next thing I'm hearing that he wound up on the wrong side of an Auror's wand. Now it looks like Dumbledore has been mucking around in it, trying to cover something up, only no one seems to know what."

__

Thank you, Albus. 

"No, Horatio. I haven't heard a thing. I'll put my ear to the ground when I get back to Hogwarts. If I come up with anything, I'll let you know." 

"Does the old man still trust you?" Sharp asked.

"Entirely," Snape said confidently. "But you know what he's like. No one's gotten a straight answer from him in the last hundred years. Still, if he knows something about Lucius, I might be able to find something out."

Barter sighed. "I'll say it again, Severus. How you stand working for that man is beyond me."

"It is no secret that I have found my position with Dumbledore to be trying in the extreme," Snape agreed lightly. "But it has had its own special compensations." 

__

Like staying alive.

"Well, it's good to know that someone at Hogwarts has their loyalties in the right place," Sharp said. "At least we can rest assured that our House is in good hands. We'll be sending the new little one on to you in a few years, you know. His name is down already."

Another word about the baby was liable to put Snape over the edge. There was a reason he declined these invitations. He managed to mutter something that he hoped sounded enthusiastic about the wretched brat and was grateful when Kenan didn't continue extolling its virtues, though he found the subsequent small talk almost as annoying. They revisited some of the topics covered at the dinner table – Quidditch, of course, and the Ministry, and then back to Quidditch again. He'd never been to one of these affairs where the guests managed to avoid running those particular topics into the ground. One of his duties was to attend Hogwarts Quidditch matches, and he generally enjoyed them – especially if Slytherin was playing - but he was mystified by the urge to discuss the sport at such length. He was sipping his drink and letting the Quidditch minutia wash over him when Hermione came through the door and made straight for him.

____________________________________________  


Hermione was too flustered from the scene in the garden to appreciate the irony of the fact that her reviled Potions Master had, in one evening, become a source of security. She merely attached herself to his side, determined not to leave it until it was time to go.

"Have you young people been enjoying yourselves?" Snape asked as he stepped slightly away from the Quidditch discussion, which Barter and King were rapidly allowing to escalate into an argument.

"Oh, er…yes," she managed. "I just didn't want to appear rude by staying outside all evening."

"Very thoughtful of you," he said dryly. "We should probably be leaving soon anyway. We have another big day of sight-seeing ahead of us tomorrow."

"Making the most of every moment, I'm sure," Sharp said with a smile, also turning his back on the Quidditch. "If you're back in Hogsmeade, Severus, be sure to bring Cassandra by the shop. I just got in some of the nicest truffula fruits you've ever seen. You'll want to pick some up for your private stores - they're nearly impossible to get these days. As I said in my owl, I doubt I'll have the special item you ordered, but there's always the chance. If I can get it, I'll let you know." 

Hermione was close enough to Snape to feel him stiffen at Sharp's words. "I don't believe I received your owl, Kenan. I've been travelling, you know. Showing Cassandra around."

"No matter," Sharp said with a dismissive wave. "I can just as easily tell you now. With things so quiet these days, your request is a difficult one. But you know I'll keep searching. If a source becomes available, I'll let you know immediately."

"I can't ask for more than that," Snape said carelessly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sharp said. "And incidentally, you should know by now that you can trust us. Lydia and I were really a bit offended by the anonymous owl. I mean really, who else could it have been but you?"

"I'm just cautious by nature, Kenan. You of all people should know better than to take that personally."

Sharp chuckled and shook his head. "You're right. I should. I doubt you'll change at this late date."

Hermione was mystified by the entire exchange, but she of course said nothing, staying quietly by Snape's side as he began the round of good-byes. They concluded, of course, by thanking their host and hostess. 

Delia King kissed Hermione. "Cassandra, my dear, it has been an absolute delight having you here, and of course, I could tell Gregor felt the same," she said with a wink. "You've done this cousin of yours a world of good, too. It's about time something got him out of that draughty castle and back amongst his friends."

Snape was kissed then too, and after shaking hands with their swaying host, he made their exit and once again offered Hermione his arm to guide her down the darkened path. 

"_Lumos_," he muttered, extending his wand.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger."

"What did Mr Sharp mean about the potion ingredient you were supposed to have ordered?"

"I don't know," he answered, his voice grim, "but I intend to find out."

___________________________________________

__

A/N: "Truffula fruits" are borrowed without permission from The Lorax by Dr. Seuss and are, as far as I know, the property of Audrey S. Geisel. _The Harry Potter Lexicon__ was my source for information on magical creatures._


	12. Dead Ends

"Would you rather talk in my room or yours?" he asked as they made their way up the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Er…it doesn't matter," she said. "I'd like to change first though."

"Fine. Just come to my room when you're finished."

Hermione knew he wanted to talk while everything was fresh on their minds, but her mind felt far from fresh at that moment. Despite the fact that she'd slept most of the day, she was tired and a bit disoriented after a whole night of pretending to be someone else. It required a certain mental stamina to consistently answer to a new name and to filter every response, weeding out anything that might give her away. And having her most demanding professor overseeing her effort hadn't made it any easier. While she changed she ran through her performance, searching for mistakes, just as she had after every test she'd ever taken. She didn't think she'd made any glaring errors, but it would be just like Snape to find something to criticize anyway.

She hung up her dress robes and decided to keep her slip on; she would have to wear it to sleep in since she hadn't brought her pyjamas with her. She threw a set of everyday robes on over it and pulled the pins from her hair, celebrating its freedom by massaging her head with both hands. 

"If anyone had ever told me I'd be jealous of Snape's hair," she muttered to herself, enjoying the silky feel of it again.

She rapped softly at his door and heard him call "come." When she entered, he was seated at the small table, scribbling something with a quill. He had exchanged his dress robes for dark trousers and a dark shirt that somehow managed to convey the exact same effect. 

He put down the quill as she entered the room and indicated the chair across from him. "Sit."

She sat. And waited for him to say something.

Contrary as ever, he didn't oblige, merely looked at her with unreadable eyes until she started to fidget under his gaze. That seemed to satisfy him, and he finally spoke. "You did well."

She released an obvious sigh of relief and saw him smirk a little. "You should have consulted me about the accent, however. It was too ambitious for a beginner. It would have been safer not to try it."

"Did I make a mistake?"

He cleared his throat slightly. "Not that I heard, but of course I wasn't with you every minute."

__

In other words, no, she thought, allowing herself a small smile.

Snape seemed not to notice. "Now let's see what you remember of the evening. Tell me what you heard, no matter how unimportant it might seem."

She began with her impressions of her host and hostess and fellow guests, and when she had used the word "nice" for the fourth time, he cut her off.

"Miss Granger, you would do well to remember that it is impossible to tell the heroes from the villains based on their behaviour at a dinner party. Did you think they'd all be wearing Death Eater masks?"

She shrugged, embarrassed. "I guess I just didn't know what to expect," she said. "They were all so…" she caught herself just in time and substituted "normal."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, even if it had been a gathering of Gryffindors, those paragons of virtue and honesty, I assure you that everyone would not have been exactly what they seemed. For proof of that you need look no further than our illustrious Headmaster. With a gathering of Slytherins, that is doubly true, and to be effective in this line of work, you need to view everyone with a degree of suspicion."

__

This line of work. The words rang in her head. This was not _her_ line of work, thank you very much, and she felt depressed even considering a life's work that entailed being suspicious of everyone she met. She was in this to find Harry and bring him home, and once that had been accomplished, Snape could keep the spy business. 

"OK, Professor. They seemed nice and normal to me, but I'm willing to concede that my view of them was a superficial one. I really didn't hear much of anything that was very helpful, I'm afraid – particularly as I spent the last part of the evening outside." She shot him an accusing look. "I notice you didn't make an effort to do anything about that."

"Why should I have?" he asked, betraying his amusement with a slight quirk of the mouth. "You and Mr King seemed to be getting along so well. For all I knew you would have resented the intrusion."

"I did not go to that party to 'meet a nice boy,' Professor, as you know perfectly well. Instead of being inside, where I might have heard something useful, I was outside listening to Gregor go on and on about how brave he is. 'Last week I caught a six Grindylows single-handedly,'" she said, doing a fair imitation of Gregor's voice. "'The week before that I captured three dragons and gathered Ashwinder eggs with my bare hands'. I mean, _honestly_."

Snape leaned forward suddenly, with a sharp creak of his chair. "What did you say?"

She looked at him, confused. "I'm exaggerating, Professor. He wasn't quite that bad, but he did strike me as a bit…"

Snape cut her off. "Did he really tell you he'd been gathering Ashwinder eggs?" he demanded.

"Um…I think so," she said. "But he mentioned so many things…"

"This is important, Miss Granger. Did he tell you he'd procured Ashwinder eggs for one of Barter's clients?"

She cast her mind back. It just hadn't seemed that important at the time. "Yes," she said slowly. "I think he said he'd done that several weeks ago."

"Damn! And of course, you didn't think to get the name of the client."

"Not knowing that the information had any significance whatsoever, there was no reason for me to," she said, irritated by the implied criticism. "Aside from which, it would have been an awfully strange question coming from a sixth year at Durmstrang just visiting for a few weeks."

"There are ways to elicit information other than a direct question, Miss Granger," he snapped. "Now, tell me what you know of the uses of Ashwinder eggs."

"I know that they're valued as a catalyst in potions," she said. "You mentioned a reducing potion last term that calls for the addition of a single Ashwinder egg before the final incantation."

"Correct. Usually, the Ashwinder egg is used as a catalyst rather than an integral ingredient in the potion itself. It's valued for its intense heat rather than for its own properties. There are two potions, however, that are exceptions to this rule. Both call for an infusion of the egg's contents, and for that infusion to be effective, it has to be prepared within twenty-four hours of the time the eggs are laid. Thus, eggs procured from an apothecary would be useless. Most of them have been frozen for days or even weeks before they are purchased."

"Which is why someone who wanted to make the infusion would have to have the eggs gathered fresh," Hermione said, beginning to understand.

"Exactly. Now, can you deduce the nature of at least one of these two potions?"

She could, actually, but she was beginning to resent his apparent need to turn this experience into a practical Potions class. She had quite enough of that from him during the school year. "Yes, Professor. I would suppose that one of the two potions is the one that killed Sirius. Though how you could have expected me to know that in the garden tonight is quite beyond me."

His eyes narrowed, and she shifted again in the uncomfortable silence. "Point taken," he bit out, finally."And it's quite possible that Gregor King had no idea who his client was anyway. But it's a virtual certainty that Horatio Barter knows, and that _is_ a valuable piece of information. While you and young Gregor were outside becoming better acquainted, Horatio asked me to pay him a visit at his office tomorrow. He said he has a 'favour' to ask of me."

"Do you have any idea what he wants?"

"No. And I'm not particularly looking forward to finding out. Horatio Barter is a dangerous man to cross and an impossible one to get information from if he doesn't want to divulge it. He spent virtually the entire evening talking about a Herbology book, of all things, and that isn't like him at all. It makes me wonder what he might be hiding." Snape furrowed his brow for a moment and she remained silent, letting him think. "Well," he said finally. "Let's move on for now. What else did you hear?"

"Well, before dinner Gregor and I mainly talked about Hogwarts and Durmstrang. I let him do most of the talking, but of course he didn't tell me much of anything I didn't already know." Hermione remembered Gregor's comments about Snape's teaching style and considered mentioning them but decided against it. He would probably take them as a compliment anyway. "The conversation about Harry at the dinner table was disturbing, obviously, but I didn't really hear anything that I thought might help us figure out who's after him. It did seem as though Mr Barter was quite hopeful that something had happened that would keep Harry from coming back to Hogwarts."

"Yes. I thought the same thing, but that's not necessarily significant. There were no Harry Potter fans at that table tonight."

"There was one," she said quietly.

"Of course," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "You know what I meant. And incidentally, you handled the mention of Mr Weasley's death quite well. It can't have been easy for you."

"It wasn't. And thank you. I admit it was hard for me to like Gregor quite so well after that, though I really don't think he meant it maliciously."

"No. I doubt he did. Gregor has always been more thoughtless than malicious. I would not have placed you in his hands if I thought otherwise."

"What do you mean, _placed me in his hands_?" 

"I mean that I would not have allowed you to be alone with him if I hadn't trusted him," Snape said smoothly. 

"You set me up!" she accused.

"Miss Granger, I have far better things to do than act as your dating service, however much you might have need of one."

Hermione looked at her professor, for a moment speechless in her rage. _You lying, sneaking, insulting, infuriating man!_ she thought, but the words wouldn't come. She was sorely tempted to walk out the door right then, but they still hadn't found Harry, and if nothing else, the evening had convinced her that she would be in far over her head if she tried to pursue this alone. She took a deep breath and fought to gain control of her fury, but her voice was icy when she spoke. "Professor, I agreed to the terms that you set, and you agreed to let me help you. I do not appreciate being manipulated. If you wanted me to spend the evening with Gregor King rather than sitting at the grown-up table, all you needed to do was _ask_."

"As it happens, Miss Granger, your time away from the 'grown-up table' – as you so colourfully put it – led to a fairly significant piece of information, even if you didn't recognize it at the time. I fail to see what difference it makes whether I orchestrated it or not."

"The end justifies the means, in other words."

"Always."

They glared at one another, and this time Hermione refused to fidget under his black gaze. Finally, he just moved on. "What else?"

She shrugged. "After I came back inside, you and I were together until the time we left. The only thing I heard that seemed interesting was the bit from Mr Sharp at the end. Do you really not have any idea what he meant?"

"I have ideas, but nothing conclusive," he said. "Obviously Kenan thinks I sent him an anonymous owl requesting a specific potion ingredient. I don't know if he thinks it was me because of the way it was worded or if he just assumed that I would be the only person who would want such a thing."

"Can you guess what the ingredient might have been?"

"There are several possibilities," he answered. "And none of them are _nice_."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I gathered that."

"Well, there's little point in speculating. I may take Kenan up on his offer to stop by the apothecary in the next day or so, and perhaps I can find out more then."

She nodded. "So what do we do next?"

"I'll have my meeting with Barter tomorrow afternoon. You won't be able to accompany me; he made it clear that he wants to see me alone. I won't insist that you stay in your room during that time, but I will ask that you not leave Diagon Alley. Perhaps you can sit outside somewhere and keep an eye out for Potter."

"That's fine."

"Tomorrow morning, I'll check in with my contacts in Knockturn Alley, and then I thought we'd pay a visit to Potter's Muggle relatives to see if he's turned up there."

"The Dursleys?" Hermione looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Professor, Harry would _not _have gone back to the Dursleys."

"Probably not, but it's still worth checking. If he knows how to get in the house, he might have gone to steal from them if nothing else."

"He would _not _go back to the Dursleys," she insisted. "Not for anything. You have no idea how horrible they were to him. Even with everything that happened last spring, Harry was ecstatic that he was through with them forever."

"And now he's wandering around London alone, and maybe they don't look so bad to him. It can't hurt to check," Snape insisted.

"But…"

"_I'm_ in charge, Miss Granger. Do you remember that part of our agreement?"

"Fine," Hermione snapped. It infuriated her that Snape was wasting precious time checking out something that she knew was going to lead nowhere, but she didn't dare argue any further. 

"We're finished for now, I think. Go get some sleep if you can." He waved his arm in the direction of her room, dismissing her. She left, grateful for the chance to escape. She'd had plenty of Snape for one evening.

_________________________________________________

Hermione slept well that night, a fact that surprised her given the amount that she had slept the previous day. She woke up feeling refreshed and eager to begin the search for Harry again. She remembered what Snape had said about going to the Dursleys and dressed in the clothes she had arrived in, since those were the only Muggle clothes she had, before heading downstairs for breakfast. She had just ordered pumpkin juice and toast when Snape came into the dining room and made his way toward her with a glazed look. 

"Good morning, Professor," she said brightly.

"Hmph."

"Is something the matter? What is it?"

He ignored her, his eyes sweeping over the small dining area as he sank down in the chair opposite her. "Coffee," he rasped to the first waitress he saw.

Hermione looked at him in obvious amusement. "I take it you're not a morning person, Professor?"

"I loathe morning people," he answered, his normally smooth voice still at basement level.

"I'm a morning person," she said cheerfully. "Always have been. I do some of my best studying first thing after I wake up. I drove Harry and Ron crazy, trying to get them to study at the breakfast table."

He stared at her. 

"Professor?"

"_Quiet_, Miss Granger."

"Why?"

The waitress arrived with his coffee, and Snape took the proffered cup and growled, "Leave the pot." He added milk to cool it quickly so that he could drink it down practically in one gulp, and then he poured a second cup, this time sipping carefully. 

"I'm adding another condition to our agreement," he said finally, his voice approaching its normal pitch. "Until I've had at least one cup of coffee in the morning, you are forbidden to speak to me. I don't know why Potter and Weasley didn't hex you out of existence years ago if this is what you're always like at the breakfast table."

"What? _Pleasant_? I suppose you'd prefer surliness."

"I'd prefer _silence_," he snapped.

"You didn't mind talking yesterday morning."

"I hadn't _slept_ yesterday morning."

"Fine, Professor. I hardly consider it a punishment to be deprived of your conversation when you're like this." To prove her point, she picked up a copy of the _Prophet_ that had been left on the table behind her and opened it up so that her view of him was completely blocked. He ordered his breakfast and sipped at his coffee while he waited for his sluggish mind to catch up to his body.

Finally, it did. "Have you met Potter's relatives before?"

Hermione lowered her paper. "Am I allowed to talk now?"

"Don't pout, Miss Granger. It doesn't become you."

She made a slight noise of irritation and then answered him, setting the paper to one side. "I've seen them before at King's Cross, but I've never been introduced. They're the most unpleasant people you can possibly imagine."

Snape raised an eyebrow at her. "I doubt that very much."

"Well, perhaps they would compare favourably to some of the company you've been forced to keep," she acknowledged, "but as Muggles go, they're pretty horrible."

"So I've heard."

Hermione nerved herself to ask a question she had long wanted answered. "Does Professor Dumbledore know how awful the Dursleys were to Harry?"

"I think he has some idea. Certainly he knew enough of Lily's family to know that Potter's abilities would never be encouraged in that household."

"But did he know that they beat him and locked him up? That he was treated worse than a servant?"

Snape shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. I doubt he knew that would be the case when he first left Potter there, or he probably would have made other arrangements. The one thing I do know for certain is that when you are under the protection of Albus Dumbledore, you are there on his terms."

"But…"

"Potter is _alive_, Miss Granger," Snape said harshly. "If he found the conditions that kept him alive less than amenable, he should probably be informed that he is not the only person in the world to suffer such a fate." He saw that she was about to say something else and quickly changed the subject. "Is that all you're going to eat?"

Hermione looked down at her remaining piece of toast. "I'm not much of a breakfast eater."

"Fine. We'll leave as soon as I'm finished. I don't suppose you could get your hands on an Apparition license in the next few minutes and save us the nightmare of Muggle transportation?"

Hermione reached for her paper again and opened it with a resounding snap.

_________________________________________________

The Muggle transportation had Snape in a mood that was foul even by his usual standards, and Hermione didn't attempt to make conversation on the way to the Dursleys. When they finally arrived on Privet Drive, she eyed the place curiously. She had never been there but had pictured it as being somewhat dark and forbidding, as befitted the scene of Harry's abuse. Instead it was ordinary, even pleasant, and they found number four easily. They approached the door together, and despite their Muggle clothing, Hermione knew that the Dursleys would know them immediately for what they were - she because they had seen her before, and Snape because he managed somehow to look like a wizard no matter what he wore. This was not going to be pleasant, she thought, nor would it be fruitful, since she was still convinced that Harry would beg in the streets before he would consider going back to Privet Drive.

"You do the talking," Snape said, surprising her. "Act as though you think Potter still lives here."

__

And I was in the neighbourhood with my Potions professor and thought I'd stop by, she thought, rolling her eyes as she reached for the bell.

An obese young man with blonde hair whom Hermione recognized as Harry's cousin opened the door. He gave Hermione a brief look of appreciation before his glance slid nervously to the oppressive figure at her side. 

"Hi," Hermione said, forcing a smile. "I'm…"

"We don't want any," Dudley said quickly, attempting to shut the door. Snape reached out calmly and stopped the movement before the door closed in their faces. 

"I'm looking for Harry Potter," Hermione said quickly.

"Mum!" Dudley shouted, wide-eyed, chins jiggling. "There are some people at the door for Harry!"

Petunia Dursley hurried out of the kitchen, pinched and scowling. Hermione forced herself to smile again, her facial muscles protesting the traitorous act. "Mrs Dursley, my name is Hermione Granger. I'm a friend of Harry's. Is he here?"

Petunia's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "If you're a friend of his, you should know that he doesn't live here anymore. He went to live with his psychopathic godfather, and good riddance, incidentally."

"Have you seen any sign that he's been by here?" Snape asked. "Any sign that anyone has tried to enter your house?"

Petunia looked horrified. "What's this all about?" she snapped. "I haven't seen him and don't _want _to see him. Isn't it enough that I took him in and fed him and clothed him for all those years? Am I to be thanked by having him break into my house?"

"_Thanked_?" Hermione spat. "Thanked for _what_, exactly? For locking him in the cupboard? For never giving him a proper birthday present or any clothes of his own? Your own sister's child, and you treated him like rubbish. You'll be _lucky_ if all he ever does to you is break into your house. If I were Harry, I'd hex you straight into next week. And _you_!" She turned on Dudley, who cringed away from her. "Don't think I don't know about all the things you did to Harry over the years. I know how you treated him, and if he doesn't do anything about it, I can promise you I will. The minute I finish school, I'm coming back to this place to show you all a few of the things I've learned." She brandished her wand menacingly and was gratified to see Petunia and Dudley Dursley quaking with fear.

"Are you quite finished, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, his amusement obvious. 

"For now," she snapped.

"Fine then. We'll go and let these people get back to their day." He extended his wand toward mother and son. "_Obliviate_."

As the door shut behind them, Hermione said, "Thank you. I enjoyed that immensely."

"It was entertaining from the spectator's point of view as well. You are most impressive in your fury."

She nodded her head, acknowledging the strange compliment. "Are you now convinced that Harry won't come back here?"

"It was a necessary avenue of investigation," he said, giving her a glare of rebuke at the implied I-told-you-so. "I'd rather know where he is than where he's not, but this was a start." He stopped at the kerb near the waiting cab and looked at his watch. "I don't have time to take you all the way back to Diagon Alley the way we came if I'm to make my meeting with Horatio Barter. Can you manage to get back on your own?"

"Of course."

"What will you do this afternoon?"

"I'm going to stop and buy some more Muggle clothing, and then I'll probably sit outside at Fortescues and watch for Harry."

He nodded. "Fine then. I'll come and find you there when I finish with Barter." He glanced up and down the street, and seeing no one, gave her a quick nod of farewell and Apparated.

_________________________________________________

Snape had not been looking forward to his meeting with Barter. Being called into Horatio Barter's private office always required that he walk the finest of lines. Barter was an old friend of his father's and, thus, conditioned to look upon Snape with a certain amount of favour, but Snape was not fool enough to think that that favour was without limits. If Barter knew the role Severus Snape was playing, his life would be measured in seconds. It was not a comforting thought. There was no question in his mind that Barter had served Voldemort during his most recent rise; he simply hadn't gathered enough proof to hand him over to the Aurors. He suspected that Barter viewed him with the same degree of suspicion. Barter was smart, and smart people were the most dangerous. 

He had said he had a "favour" to ask. No, Snape wasn't looking forward to this at all.

He waited impatiently just outside Barter's office, which was located in the highest tower of the Presto building. He had arrived precisely on time, only to be told that Barter was still in a meeting. Waiting always made him furious. Only Voldemort and Dumbledore had ever been able to keep him waiting without suffering the consequences of his wrath, but he knew he would have to add Barter to the list if he were to get through the meeting successfully. That knowledge only added to his black mood.

"Severus." Barter had Apparated directly into his office, and he now stood in the doorway, giving Snape a smile that was probably supposed to be apologetic but instead looked condescending. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting." Snape knew then that he'd been kept waiting on purpose. He hated these damned games.

"Not at all, Horatio." And the lies continued.

"Come in, Severus, come in." Barter gestured Snape into his luxurious office and indicated a comfortable chair beside the fire before settling into the one opposite. "It was wonderful to see you last night – and your cousin, of course. Lovely girl. Can't quite decide who she favours…but then, it's been a while since I've seen Damian or Olivia."

There was nothing of suspicion in Barter's tone, but Snape felt a slight tightening in his stomach. "I haven't seen them since you have," he said lightly. "They've preferred to keep to themselves, as you know."

"Quite so. That's why I was a bit surprised to see Cassandra in England," he smiled at Snape. "A pleasant surprise though, of course. Seems a bit trying for you – being saddled with a teenaged girl when you're supposed to be enjoying your summer holiday."

"It's actually been less tedious than I expected," Snape said dryly. "She's a bright girl and less inclined to adolescent foolishness than most of the students I'm forced to teach."

"She struck me the same way," Barter said, nodding his agreement. "I'm pleased you've enjoyed her visit. All the same, I'm glad you didn't bring her along today. I have a matter to discuss with you that requires considerable discretion."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I understood that you needed a favour."

"Not a favour, precisely. You'll be well compensated for your cooperation."

Snape nodded. "I'm listening."

"I've had a request for a wand - a request I am unable to fill without a certain item I think you might be able to procure for me."

"And that is…?" Snape drawled.

"I need a tail feather from Dumbledore's phoenix."

Snape nearly choked on the absurdity of the request. It took every ounce of self-control not to throw back his head and laugh in the man's face as he got a mental image of himself trying to steal into Dumbledore's office and pluck his beloved bird – a bird Snape was convinced was more intelligent than most of the Hogwarts staff. "Surely you realize that such a thing is impossible," he managed.

"I've been told that I can name my price," Barter replied evenly, "which means that you can name yours. Nothing is impossible, Severus."

"To function properly in a wand, the bird must give the feather freely," Snape argued. 

"You're a bright man, Severus. You'll think of a way."

"I take it I'm not allowed to ask _who_ has made this extraordinary request. Or why."

Barter gave him a smile that was wholly insincere. "I wish I _could_ tell you, Severus. It does seem only fair. But to do so would be breaking a confidence."

"Naturally," Snape said dryly. "Well, Horatio, I'll see what I can do. I hope this isn't a rush request, however, because it's going to take some planning if it can be managed at all."

"No, take your time - within reason, of course. From what I understand, my customer will be satisfied to have the wand sometime this autumn."

The meeting wound down quickly then, with Barter seeming as anxious to get rid of Snape as Snape was to be gone.

Snape Apparated directly to his room in the Leaky Cauldron, where he immediately sat down on the bed and had the laugh he'd been denying himself. He'd been asked to do some stupid things over the years, but this took first prize. Of course, underlying the humour of the ludicrous request was the knowledge that someone did, indeed, have dark plans for Harry Potter. There could be no one else in the wizarding world that would require an unregistered wand with a core of phoenix tail feather specifically taken from Fawkes. It wasn't particularly helpful information, since it only confirmed what he already knew, but it would be something to report to Dumbledore. Perhaps the Headmaster would have some idea of what to do with Barter's request. Snape's uncharacteristic laughter passed quickly, and he rose and went in search of Hermione.

_________________________________________________

Harry donned badly wrinkled robes over his Muggle clothing and made his way through Diagon Alley. He had arrived at mid-morning, wanting there to be enough people about that he could blend into the crowds. He tried to look confident, but his eyes automatically darted around, on the lookout for anyone he knew. A small part of him – the stupid part, he realized – actually _wanted_ to see someone he knew so that he would have an idea of how effective his disguise was. The rest of him was relieved when he made it to the Gringotts counter without anyone giving him a second glance. 

He presented his key, grateful for the discretion of the Gringott's Goblins, who never asked bothersome questions as long as the proper key was produced. After the dizzying ride down to his vault, he took out more money than he had ever withdrawn before – considerably more than he could comfortably carry – and lugged it all back to the cart. Back upstairs, he stood in a short queue at the exchange counter where he changed most of the Galleons for Pounds but kept a few of the gold coins for future forays into Diagon Alley. He debated what to do about Hermione's money, and finally settled on returning it in Muggle currency. He knew she'd change it back later, of course, but it seemed more honest somehow to return it in the same form he'd taken it. He tucked it back into her wallet and then put the whole thing into one of the pouches he'd gotten from the bank.

Having completed his first errand so successfully, he left Gringotts feeling more confident in his disguise and headed straight for the local post office. It was busy, however, and he had to wait in a much longer queue there than he had at the bank. His confidence waned with the close proximity to so many other witches and wizards, and he spent most of his time with his head down, examining his feet and wishing for the millionth time that his face hadn't graced the pages of the _Daily Prophet_ quite so often.   
The progress was slow, and the witch and wizard behind the counter were getting complaints and cross looks from the waiting customers.

"I'm sorry, but at the moment we don't have an owl large enough to carry your package," the postal worker said to an annoyed wizard. "If you'd like to commission two, we can send it right away, or you can wait a day until Firefly gets back. He's the biggest we have."

"If I hire two owls, will I be charged twice?" the customer demanded.

"Well, yes, sir. I'm sorry, but we can't ask one small owl to carry such a large package."

"Ridiculous!" the wizard snapped. "You're the bloody post office. You should have all the owls you need."

The witch behind the counter was looking quite put-upon, and Harry was giving serious thought to paying for the second owl himself, just so things would begin moving again. 

"Sir, I'm sorry," she said again. "We have an unusual number of owls out right now. If it could just wait another day…"

"It can't wait. Here…" he threw down some money. "I'll just pay for the second owl. But I'm being robbed, I can tell you that."

Harry was glad then that he'd decided to go with Muggle notes instead of Galleons. Even a smallish owl should be able to handle those.

Finally, it was his turn. "May I help you sir?"

"Yes, please," he said, putting the pouch with Hermione's wallet down on the counter. "I'd like to send this to a friend of mine."

"I'll need the name and address, please."

Hmmm. He didn't know Hermione's home address. It had been years since he'd needed to since Hedwig could find her way there in her sleep. "Er, I'm not sure of the address," he admitted.

The witch looked aggrieved. "We have to have an address, sir."

"I know," he said, thinking. "I suppose since I don't have her address, I'll just send it to her care of Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts School. He'll make sure she receives it."

The witch reached for a tattered quill and jotted down the information. "That will be fine, sir. But I'll still need the name of the recipient."

"Hermione Granger." 

He didn't notice a man in the queue next to him look up, startled, as he said Hermione's name. 

The witch jotted down the information. "That will be three Sickles, sir, unless you want same-day service. That'll cost you a few Knuts more."

"Er, no. It doesn't matter." Harry handed over the coins.

"I'll need you to sign this, please."

Harry reached for the quill and came very close to signing his own name. The "stupid" part of his brain was asserting itself again, he thought, catching himself just in time. Instead, he wrote "C. Creevey."

The clerk glanced at it. "Thank you, Mr Creevey. We'll get this off today. It should be at Hogwarts by noon tomorrow."

"Thank you." Harry left quickly with his head still down. He didn't see the man leave the second queue and follow him out the door. 

_________________________________________________

He had just stepped in to check his mail. 

The potion was the critical first step in the plan, and they had owled a different list to every apothecary shop in England, wanting to get a few ingredients from each. Had they just walked into one and handed them a list, it might have aroused suspicion. The owl to the Sharps had been the most dangerous, of course, but they had taken care to word it so that Kenan would think that bastard Snape was behind it and had even managed a fair approximation of Snape's handwriting. Later, once they were successful, they expected that Kenan would join them, but it was too soon to be recruiting. Right now, they needed the potion, and then they needed Potter, and if all went as planned, they would be able to create their own Dark Order, learning from the mistakes Voldemort had made.

They had discussed those mistakes at length. Voldemort had been too arrogant and had allowed his obsession with Harry Potter to interfere with his judgment. He had insisted on facing Potter himself, on defeating him in a duel rather than using simpler methods. There were any number of potions, the man had learned, which could have done the thing just as effectively and a lot more subtly, but Voldemort had wanted his public triumph over the boy who'd had the temerity to live. His quest for supremacy had clouded his judgment, and he had paid for it with his life. It was not a mistake they would repeat.

They weren't quite ready for Potter yet, but having him fall into their hands this way was too good an opportunity to pass up. He had paid no attention to the slightly odd-looking blond boy until he had heard the name "Hermione Granger." Then he had placed the voice immediately and had given the boy a second look, just to confirm what his ears had already told him. He had no idea why the boy was so changed or why he was using an assumed name, but he knew for certain that it was Potter. 

He followed the shining blond head through the crowded street, his shorter legs making it a struggle to keep up. Fortunately, the boy wasn't moving as if he was in a hurry, and the man was able to scurry out of sight if Potter happened to glance his way. They made their way out of Diagon Alley and into the streets of London. 

_________________________________________________

Harry gave his order to the waitress behind the bar in the crowded pub, wishing that they served butterbeer. There was nothing in the Muggle world that even came close, he thought sadly, settling for a soft drink. He sipped at it and gazed around the pub with disinterest. He had hated being famous in the wizarding world, but he certainly hadn't minded having friends. He missed being able to walk into a place like the Three Broomsticks and actually run into people he knew, people who called hello to him or stopped to talk a bit of Quidditch. Muggle London was a great place if you happened to want to disappear, but disappearing was a lonely business, and just then Harry wished he had someone to talk to.

__

//Leave the pub.//

The words shot into his mind with steely insistence and absolute clarity as every other thought deserted him. He obeyed, picking up his knapsack and walking out the front door of the pub, never considering the meal he had ordered or the drink he had partially consumed.

__

//Turn right. Begin walking down the street.//

Woodenly, Harry made a right turn outside the pub, nearly walking into an approaching couple. He didn't bother with apologies. He heard footsteps behind him, but he didn't turn around. The orders kept coming, directing him through streets and alleys he'd never seen before until he had walked perhaps two miles, his own footsteps echoed by the ones behind him. 

__

//The white house on the right. Go inside.//

He stopped and turned, preparing to climb the steps, and shifted his heavy knapsack from his tired left shoulder to his right. His eyes were glazed as he put the first foot on the stairs, but suddenly he pivoted, wand out, and faced the owner of the second set of footsteps.

"_Crucio_."

_________________________________________________

__

A/N: While Snape's coffee habits resemble my own, I must give a nod to Telanu's brilliant, hilarious fic "Your Horoscope For Today," which undoubtedly inspired his caffeine addiction in this story.


	13. The Arnold Street House

Harry had no idea who was behind him when he wheeled around with his wand outstretched. He only knew that whoever had thought that he couldn't resist the Imperius curse had made a serious error in judgment. 

"_Crucio_."

The word left his mouth before his brain even knew it was formed, and he watched Peter Pettigrew fall to the ground, writhing and shrieking in pain.

It was an immensely satisfying sight, and he took his time enjoying it, holding his wand steady. The use of his wand would probably mean his discovery, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything except making Pettigrew pay for his weakness, for his disloyalty to his friends, and for his treachery to Harry himself. He had followed the commands thinking they might lead him to whoever had killed Sirius. He didn't know if Wormtail had been involved in that, but even if he hadn't, he deserved the torturous pain. Harry exulted in the power he held over the pathetic fool. He thought, on the whole, that he would be content to stand on that street forever, soaking in the sight of Pettigrew's suffering. 

It was not to be. 

"_Stupefy_."

The curse hit him from behind, sending him flying and freeing Pettigrew from the grip of the Cruciatus curse. Harry landed in a heap in the middle of the street, unconscious, while Pettigrew gasped and shuddered as the worst of the pain left him.

"It's Potter," he managed. "Saw him in the Post Office." Pettigrew raised himself to a sitting position, his limbs still trembling with the after-effects of the curse. "Brought him here under Imperius."

"Fool," the other man replied with a harsh laugh. "You should have known Potter was strong enough to resist Imperius. Still, he's here, and that's what matters."

"Help me up," Pettigrew said. "Let's get him inside."

The other man nodded and approached Pettigrew. He was only three feet away when he pulled his wand, aimed it at Peter, and said quietly, "_Avada Kedavra_." He saw his victim's eyes widen in the split second before the flash of green light hit him, and then Peter Pettigrew was dead. 

The wizard moved fast then – there was much to do and little time. He summoned a small phlebotomy kit from inside the house, quickly readied the needle and vacutainer, and then plunged into Pettigrew's basilic vein. When the tube was full, he discarded the needle and tucked the tube of blood into the case, putting it all into his pocket. Finally, he gathered Potter up in his arms, staggering under the grown man's weight of him. He didn't dare Apparate with the man in his arms, and the house wasn't connected to the Floo network, for obvious reasons. He had planned, however, for Potter's eventual capture. He dragged the unconscious wizard into the house and, breathless from his exertion, reached for a picture hanging just inside the door. It was a particularly uninspiring Muggle landscape that he had turned into a Portkey just a week ago. His hand closed on the frame, and they were gone.

_________________________________________________

"_Ennervate_." 

Harry awoke, blinking his eyes. Awareness came to him in stages, one sense at a time. 

__

Dark. Utter, complete blackness, oppressive in its totality.

__

Cold. Much too cold for summer, making his limbs feel heavy and unresponsive.

__

Damp. Clinging to his hair and skin, seeping through the heavy denim of his jeans.

__

Quiet. A silence so severe that his ears rang with the absence of sound.

He was on his back, and as he reached behind to get the leverage to sit up, his hands told him that hard-packed dirt was beneath him. He felt instinctively for his glasses, settling them more comfortably on his face, for all the good it did him. As he stretched out a hand, feeling for anything that would give a clue as to where he was, his ears finally picked up the first faint sound, and for a split second he rejoiced. His senses had been crying out for stimulation, but when he actually processed the sound he was filled with dread: He could hear someone else breathing in the darkness.

"Who's there?" he croaked.

"A friend," came the soft voice with just a hint of Irish brogue. "I know it might not seem like that now, but I am your friend, Harry. I'm going to help you. I'm going to help you realize your true potential – something those fools at Hogwarts would never do."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry's voice was getting stronger now, and anger was overtaking confusion as his primary emotion.

"You'll understand," the soft voice replied. "But not just yet. There are some things I need to do before we'll be ready to proceed. Until then, I'm going to have to keep you here. The accommodations are far from luxurious, I know, but I will do what I can to make you comfortable while we wait. You'll find a bed just to your left, and I'll bring down some food in a couple of hours. I need you strong, Harry."

Harry did not like the sound of that at all. His wand was apparently gone, and a mental run-through of the wandless magic he had practiced with Hermione yielded nothing that might help him in his current situation. He had a vague idea of the direction the voice was coming from, but the sound seemed to bounce around, and even that was uncertain. He wasn't confident enough in his abilities to begin hurling curses around a confined space in the hopes that he _might_ hit his target. 

"I'll be back soon," the voice said. There were footsteps – going up - and then a dark shape stood out against a brief flash of light before Harry was left completely alone.

_________________________________________________

"Professor Snape? I'm sorry to interrupt your breakfast, sir, but you've received an owl. She's at the front desk."

Snape nodded and pushed back his chair. "We were just finishing," he said, putting down enough to cover their bill. Hermione rose and followed him to the front desk.

"It's Hedwig!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to the snowy owl. "I left her at Hogwarts."

"Must be from Dumbledore then." Snape removed the roll of parchment from Hedwig's outstretched leg while Hermione stroked Hedwig's head and received a gentle nip on her hand in greeting.

"I had hoped not to be proven right quite so quickly," Snape said heavily as he finished reading the parchment.

"What is it?"

"See for yourself." He handed her the note and reached absently into a jar of owl treats to offer one to Hedwig. 

__

Severus,

I received word this morning from Mafalda Hopkirk in the Improper Use of Magic Office that Harry's wand was used yesterday to cast the Cruciatus curse in front of the house at 221 Arnold Street in London. Magical Law Enforcement was notified, and the Aurors arrived within 15 minutes. Peter Pettigrew's body was found on the sidewalk in front of the house. 

The house has been searched by the Aurors. It was initially thought to be a Muggle home, but several items were found which indicate otherwise. I have asked that nothing be removed until you have had a chance to examine the house yourself, and I should like for you to do so as soon as possible and report back to me with your thoughts on this matter. I will say no more for now, so that you can enter the house with a mind unclouded by an old man's suspicions.

I will expect to hear from you soon. My best to Miss Granger.

Albus

"Oh no!" she said, sinking into the nearest chair. "No. He _couldn't_ have."

"He did."

"Maybe someone else used his wand."

"No one would be fool enough to cast Cruciatus with another wizard's wand. The risks would be enormous if it worked at all, and it probably wouldn't. I'm sorry, but it was Potter." Snape's voice was as kind as she'd ever heard it and it moved over her like a caress, soothing her tattered nerves. He sat down next to her and reached for the parchment, taking it from her shaking hands.

"How could he do something like that?" she asked weakly. "How could he just…and then walk away? Even Peter Pettigrew. He saved Peter's life that night in the shrieking shack. How could he do this now?"

"That was years ago," Snape said simply. "He's changed."

"No," Hermione was embarrassed by the tears pricking her eyes and wished Snape would be his usual sarcastic self. His unprecedented kindness was making it impossible for her to keep her emotions in check, and he may have realized it because he became more businesslike.

"Perhaps we should turn our attention to the rest of the Headmaster's note," he said briskly. "Obviously, something was found in the house that has made Dumbledore suspect…something, and just as obviously, he thinks it's something I will recognize. I need to get over there."

"Right," she said, drawing a steadying breath.

"I trust you noticed the last line," he said dryly. "Apparently we've been given both forgiveness and permission – for the moment. It may be that he has other ideas when we see him, but for now, you may accompany me to the house."

She nodded and rose from her chair. "I'm ready."

__

Good girl, Snape thought, as he saw her gain control. Aloud he said, "We'll need Muggle clothing. Let's go change."

They went up to their rooms, and Hermione changed into the clothing she had purchased the day before. Her hair was curly and brown again, and she pulled it back into a ponytail and grabbed her knapsack on the way out the door. She and Snape had agreed to meet downstairs, and he was already there when she arrived, wearing the black trousers and white shirt she had seen him in the first night. She wondered absently if he owned anything with any colour in it at all. She couldn't picture it, somehow.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready."

_________________________________________________

A greying Auror on the front steps of the house stopped them. Diversion charms had been cast right away, and he had watched Muggles go by the house without giving it a glance, so it surprised him when two people in Muggle clothing made straight for the front door. A witch and wizard, obviously, but that didn't give them the right to stroll through a crime scene.

"I'm sorry. No one's permitted in," the Auror said. 

"We're here at Dumbledore's request," Snape said. "Severus Snape and Hermione Granger."

"I wasn't told anything about…."

Snape glared and produced the letter from Dumbledore. The Auror skimmed it and said, "Well, I suppose it's all right, but you're not to remove anything. We've got another man just inside the house. You might need to show him this."

Snape gave him a terse nod and opened the door, allowing Hermione to pass through first. Sure enough, another Auror came to greet them, but this one was younger and recognized Snape from his days at Hogwarts. "Professor Snape. Professor Dumbledore said we should expect you. We've left everything just as we found it."

Snape cast his mind back a few years and dragged up the boy's – man's - pertinent information. Ravenclaw. Brody. Alistair Brody. "You might have mentioned that to the man on the steps," he snapped.

"Sorry, Professor. I just came back on duty. I guess I just forgot." It was clear from Brody's demeanour that he half expected to receive detention for his error, despite the fact that it had been years since he had sat in Snape's classroom. 

Under other conditions, Hermione might have found that funny, but instead of laughing she just looked at Snape and said, "What should I do?"

Snape glanced around. "We need to search the place," he said. "And it'll go faster if we split up. Mr. Brody, suppose you make our job a little easier by telling us what you and your cohorts have already found."

"Yes, sir," Brody said, looking relieved and settling into his usual presentation mode. "We were placed on alert two days ago to respond to any reports that Harry Potter had used his wand. We got that report yesterday, just after noon, and several men Apparated here right away."

"Dumbledore said it took fifteen minutes," Snape said. "That doesn't sound like 'right away' to me."

"We came as soon as we were notified, Professor." Brody sounded a bit defensive. "The hold-up was over in Improper Use. Apparently one of the witches there was out sick and…"

"Spare me!" Snape was furious. "It's a wonder the magical community functions at all the way you people do business over there. It's always someone else's fault, isn't it? And now our only witness has been relegated to the refrigerator section at St. Mungo's."

"Well, sir, that was Potter's doing, now wasn't it?"

Hermione stiffened. "We don't know that! We don't know what happened here yesterday. We don't know why Harry cast the curse or why he left, and we _won't_ know until we find him."

"Who are _you_?" 

"Hermione Granger," she answered coldly. "I'm a friend of Harry's."

"She is also my assistant in this matter," Snape said firmly, "here with Dumbledore's blessing. You will give her every courtesy."

The part about Dumbledore's blessing was a gross exaggeration of the facts, but it seemed to have the intended effect on Al Brody since he looked at Hermione with increased respect. 

"I'm sorry," he said, "I mean, if Potter's a friend of yours and all, but what it looks like to us is that he tortured the guy and then killed him."

"Perhaps it looks that way to _you_, but there are rather too many unanswered questions here for my comfort," Snape said. "I've known Potter for six years now, and one of the few things I can say in his favour is that he _doesn't_ run away from the consequences of his actions, even when that course is by far the most prudent one he could take. I will reserve judgment about last night until I have more facts at my disposal. Now, Mr. Brody, what else do you know?"

"Well, we did _Priori Incantatem_ on Pettigrew's wand and came up with the Imperius Curse."

"Harry's been able to resist Imperio for years," Hermione said. "It wouldn't have worked on him."

"A fact which Pettigrew apparently found out the hard way," Snape said. "Well, that answers one question, anyway. Pettigrew brought Potter here under Imperius, or thought he did." 

"Well that would make what Harry did self-defence, wouldn't it?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"It might, but without a witness it would be hard to prove, and leaving the scene makes him appear more guilty." 

"But you just said…"

"I said _appear_, Miss Granger. I am merely explaining how it will look to the Ministry. I've already said that we don't have enough information yet to draw any firm conclusions. They will autopsy Pettigrew; perhaps that will give us some additional information."

Hermione looked thoughtful and tried to remember everything she'd learned about Unforgivables. "I know it's possible to die from the Cruciatus curse, particularly if the victim already has an existing medical condition. That would mean that Harry didn't really _mean_ to kill Pettigrew."

"It is possible," Snape agreed. "But it isn't common. It's far more likely that Pettigrew died from the killing curse. If he did, an autopsy will reveal that. Actually, a simple blood test is all that is necessary_. _Avada Kedavra alters the victim's blood in ways that are easily distinguishable. A first-year could tell the difference."

"But we know that Harry didn't cast Avada Kedavra," Hermione said, still intent on her defence. "Cruciatus was the only curse reported."

Snape looked exasperated. "Point one: Cruciatus and Avada Kedavra are both Unforgivables. The Ministry doesn't distinguish between them when assigning rooms at Azkaban. Point two: Potter killed without using his wand just a few months ago, and everybody in the wizarding world knows it. The fact that his wand wasn't used is hardly compelling evidence of his innocence. Point three: We're here to gather information, _not_ to prepare his defence. One step at a time, Miss Granger."

"Yes, sir." She sighed and looked at Brody. "What else?"

Brody had been watching their exchange with interest, but he returned to his presentation after giving her a curious look. "We found Pettigrew's body in the middle of the street, and Potter's bag just by the front steps of this place, so this is the first house we checked. We knocked and didn't get an answer, and so we checked for wards and got a hit on the windows. Nothing too complicated, but it was enough to tell us this was a wizard's place. Once we got inside, we found some strange things in the kitchen. I couldn't put a name to any of them myself. They seem to be in your line, Professor."

"I want to see them. Now." 

"This way." Brody led the way down a narrow hallway that opened onto a small kitchen on one side and the lounge on the other. The three of them overcrowded the kitchen, particularly when Brody opened the refrigerator. At first glance, the contents of the refrigerator were unremarkable: milk, two kinds of juice, some reasonably fresh produce, condiments and the like. Brody withdrew two plastic containers, the type Hermione's mother used for storing leftovers, and handed them to Snape, who reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled on gloves before opening them up.

"I trust you took similar precautions," he said snidely, knowing from the worried look on Brody's face that he hadn't. 

"Er, well, we just thought they were food. Professor Dumbledore was the one who said you should take a look," Brody said.

"This is certainly _not_ food," Snape said, gazing at the contents of the first container. "You're telling me you didn't recognize this?"

"No, sir."

"Thus proving that you learned absolutely nothing in my class. Miss Granger, would you please enlighten Mr. Brody?"

Hermione shot Brody an apologetic look. "It's Fulcher Moss. It's found in caves and prefers a cool, dark, and damp environment. It's used in-"

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Snape said sharply. "You have humiliated Mr. Brody sufficiently. It is not necessary to show off any further."

She glared at him. "I wasn't trying to…"

"Enough!" he snapped, opening the next container. "Ahhh," he said. "I believe even you might have some trouble identifying this, Miss Granger."

"Do you know what it is?" she asked, gazing at the congealed milky substance.

"I believe I do, but it will be necessary to conduct a test on it to be sure." He looked at Brody. "I'm assuming from the fact that none of you were taken to St. Mungo's that you weren't foolish enough to touch this with your bare hands."

"No, sir." Brody was sounding sulky now, clearly tiring of the presence of his supercilious former Potions Master. "Is it as dangerous as that, then?"

"If it's what I think it is, it's as dangerous as that, and then some," Snape answered smoothly. "And properly combined with Fulcher Moss and several other ingredients, it creates the same incendiary potion that was used to kill Sirius Black two days ago."

Hermione's eyes grew huge. "It's the Ashwinder infusion, then. So whoever lived here is the one who killed Sirius."

"I thought I just said that." He gave her a look of disdain. "Really, Miss Granger, if you can do no better than state the obvious you might as well go home."

Hermione grit her teeth to keep from snapping back at him. "What would you like me to do, Professor?" she managed, barely polite.

He looked at Brody. "Did you have anything else to show us?"

Brody shook his head. "Not really. A few potions in the upstairs bathroom, but nothing exciting. To all other appearances, this is a Muggle home. If it hadn't been for the wards we wouldn't have checked it carefully enough to find the stuff in the refrigerator at all."

Snape rolled his eyes. "In that case, I need to go through the kitchen more carefully and make sure there's nothing you missed. Miss Granger, I'm going to allow you to play to your strengths and start with the books. I noticed a bookshelf in the sitting room. There may be others upstairs. Check every book in the house, as carefully as you can. We're looking for anything connected to potion-making, of course, but if anything else catches your eye, bring it to my attention."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

Hermione crossed the hall to the lounge, leaving Snape snapping orders at Brody in the kitchen. There was a single bookcase in the room, and the books were arranged precisely, almost as they would be in a library. The top shelf contained fiction, mostly classics with a few modern authors thrown in at the end of the row. The next shelf was devoted to practical guides to Muggle life – perhaps more of these than the average Muggle would actually own. She found several cookbooks, two books on gardening, one on simple home repairs, and several on decorating. The bottom two shelves were devoted to the Muggle sciences – biology, chemistry, mathematics, physics and even psychology. None of it looked terribly interesting or particularly pertinent to the investigation, but she set to with her usual thoroughness, removing the books from the shelves one at a time, opening them to check for a name written inside, and then flipping through them to make sure no papers were tucked between the pages. She kept them organized in piles on the floor and then restored each shelf to its proper order before moving on to the next.

She was about halfway through her project when Brody made his escape from the kitchen.

"How are you coming in here?" he asked her.

"Not terribly well," she admitted. "These are all Muggle books. Nothing about magic at all. Lots of Muggle science though. Has Professor Snape found anything else?"

Brody nodded. "Some more potion ingredients stored in the pantry. I was sure he was going to deduct house points when I couldn't identify them."

Hermione smiled at that. "What house were you in?"

"Ravenclaw. You?"

"Gryffindor. Seventh year."

"Oh, guess I should have figured that. Same as Potter."

She nodded. "Harry's my best friend."

A spark of understanding came into his eyes. "You're the one…" He paused. "I mean, I think I've read about you in the _Prophet _– in articles about Potter."

She nodded again. "Probably." She reached for another book and began skimming through it, not particularly wanting to pursue that line of conversation.

"Can I ask what you're doing here…with _him_, I mean?"

"He's trying to find Harry," she said simply. "I wanted to help if I could."

"You're a brave one." Brody said in a low voice.

She chuckled. "It hasn't been as bad as I expected," she said. 

"In another minute you'll have me blushing, Miss Granger," Snape drawled from the doorway, causing both of their heads to snap up. He seemed more amused than annoyed, she was relieved to see. "Any luck?"

"Not really," she said. "All Muggle books so far – a diverse lot, but a bit heavier on the sciences than anything else. I'm about halfway through."

"Fine then. I'm finished in the kitchen and am going to examine the rooms upstairs. There can be little question that the potion that killed Black was brewed in this house. I've collected the evidence. We'll take it with us to my lab at Hogwarts."

"Yes, sir." 

"Mr. Brody, perhaps you could make yourself useful and find me an owl. I'll need to send a note to the Headmaster before we leave here."

"Yes, sir." Brody was unaccustomed, as an Auror, to fetching and carrying for civilian investigators, but he obeyed Snape out of habit and because he was pleased with an excuse to be out of his presence. 

The two men left Hermione alone in the room, and as she went back to her books, she heard the faint sounds of Snape climbing the stairs and then moving around on the floor above. She continued to search and sort, occasionally fighting off the temptation to read whole sections, but generally finding Muggle books much less interesting than books about magic. She was on the bottom shelf when she removed a stack of heavy texts and found a roll of parchment tucked behind. Her heart beat faster as she unrolled it; it could certainly prove to be nothing, she was well aware, but the parchment alone indicated that she'd finally found something written by a witch or wizard. It was quite long, written in a hand that immediately struck her as familiar. 

Red. It should be in red, she realized. 

The handwriting was _Professor Snape's_. Snape always corrected their parchments in the deepest red ink; Harry and Ron had joked that it was the blood of students who had killed themselves in the potions lab. Despite the fact that this was written in black ink rather than red, she was quite sure that the handwriting was Snape's. She scanned the notes quickly; it was obvious that he had been trying to work out the formula for a new potion. Some of the ingredients were familiar – she noted jobberknoll feathers and puffapod seeds – but others mentioned struck her as…well, disturbing. Incredibly disturbing. Her eyes riveted on the word "blood" written in the margin. _Three drops or four? _he had scrawled.

She felt sickened and wondered if it was possible that Snape was involved – if perhaps he had been deceiving Dumbledore about his allegiances. But why, then, would he bring her here? Was he allowing her to help only so that he could turn on both of them the minute Harry was found? She rose from her place on the floor, the parchment still clutched in her hand. She could hear the creak of his footsteps upstairs. Should she seek him out and show him the parchment, or should she take the closest Floo to Dumbledore's office?

She thought for a moment about the dark, forbidding, deeply unpleasant man upstairs, and her mind was made up.


	14. The Potion

"Professor, I've found something I think you need to see." Snape looked up from the cupboard he had been examining and saw the Granger girl looking grave…a bit frightened even. He reached for the roll of parchment she held and managed to keep his reaction to a subtle clenching of the jaw as he saw what it contained. He scanned the decades-old document, notes made in his adolescent hand, and then looked back at the girl who had brought it to him.

When he spoke it was with his normal collected distance, as if he were questioning her from the safety of his classroom dais. "And what did you make of this, Miss Granger?"

"It's your handwriting, is it not?" 

"It is." He held her gaze, insisting that she say more.

"It appears to be some notes you made as you were working on a potion. I couldn't really tell more than that."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh come now, Miss Granger. I am too familiar with your abilities to believe _that_."

"Well, it seemed – from some of the ingredients, I mean – it seemed like it was probably Dark Magic. It appeared to have some of the same properties as the memory-altering potions we studied last year, but I really couldn't tell its specific purpose."

"No, probably not. The books that might help you divine its purpose are in my private collection, unsuitable even for the Restricted Section of the library." He gave her an appraising look. She was standing quietly before him, answering his questions with a bit of pale hesitation, but answering them honestly. He ventured another to satisfy his own curiosity. "When you found this, did you consider, even for a moment, not bringing it to my attention?" 

She looked frightened again, bit her lip, and couldn't meet his gaze. "Yes, sir," she said, looking down at her feet. "I considered taking it to Professor Dumbledore."

"It would have been an understandable course of action," he said, causing her to look up at him in surprise. "It might even have been the most prudent course of action. Why didn't you?"

"I…trust you," she said simply. 

"How very Gryffindor of you," he said, sounding disgusted.

"Must you always turn the word _Gryffindor _into an insult?" she snapped.

"Yes, actually. I find that I must," he answered. "You all make it so easy. However, in this case, I confess that I am glad a Gryffindor found this particular piece of parchment. A Slytherin would have probably had the sense to make things very uncomfortable for me – a situation I'm happy enough to avoid…for the moment."

"I'm rapidly regretting my decision," she said, glaring at him. "So, am I to be rewarded for my Gryffindor faith with an explanation?"

"You're assuming that I have one," he said, sinking into a chair and tapping the parchment against his leg. "The fact is, I have absolutely no idea how that parchment came to be in this house. I haven't seen it in twenty years and don't even recall it going missing. It is, as you correctly surmised, some notes I was making as I worked on developing a new potion. I was in my seventh year at Hogwarts and had worn the Dark Mark since the previous summer. I hoped that this potion would elevate my position among the Death Eaters, bring me into Voldemort's inner circle. It would have, too, if I'd ever gotten the damned thing to work. As a student, however, I just didn't have the resources. Couldn't get the proper ingredients – some of which are, as you noted, very disturbing. I would add that they are also hard to come by, particularly for a student."

"How did you manage to work on it at all?" Hermione asked. "I mean, when we brewed Polyjuice in our second year, we had to do it in a _bathroom_. I can't imagine doing this kind of research anywhere but in a lab."

"I had a lab," he said. "The same lab I use now, as a matter of fact. Our Potions Master was killed by the Aurors in the middle of the first term that year, and the only replacement Dumbledore was able to find was so inept that the older students were allowed to pursue their studies on an independent basis." He snorted at the memory. "It's a wonder the castle survived it. Most of them weren't any more gifted at Potions than your classmates are. But it meant that I had free rein, more or less, to pursue my project. I abandoned it when I finished Hogwarts. I apprenticed to a Master in Italy for a time and continued to serve Voldemort." He shrugged. "My time was not my own then. Later, of course, I had cause to be glad that the work was never finished. I destroyed my notes and thought that was the end of it."

He looked down at the parchment again, unrolling it carefully. "I wish I could remember when I wrote this, or if I even noticed it missing. It appears that this was drafted in the very early stages of my research, but I can't tell anything beyond that. Twenty years is a long time to remember such trifles."

"What was your goal, Professor? What was the potion supposed to do?"

He looked at the girl, pitying her for the second time that day. She loved Potter, that much was obvious. It would be easier – kinder – not to tell her what the potion was – theoretically, at least - capable of, but he rejected that idea out of hand. She had committed herself to helping him, and he refused to have an assistant who was too weak to handle the truth.

"It would act in much the same manner as a Dementor," he said with a sigh. "Only it does a Dementor one better. A Dementor feeds on happy thoughts; given in its full dosage, this potion would eliminate happy memories and begin eroding the conscience. Since I never completed work on it, I don't know to what extent that would occur, but my theory was that this potion would be a way to create new Death Eaters, even of men who never would have considered serving Voldemort otherwise."

He saw the look of revulsion that crossed her face. It was quickly followed by horror, as the implications of what he was saying sunk in. "You think someone wants to use the potion on Harry," she said, a slight tremor in her voice. "That's what all this is about, isn't it?"

"It's possible," he said. "Likely, even, given what you've just found, especially when put together with what we learned two nights ago. What Kenan says makes perfect sense now that we have this." He raised the roll of parchment.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember, he said that things had been so 'quiet' lately that he wasn't sure when they might he able to get the ingredient that had been requested." He looked at Hermione and she nodded, but it was obvious she was still confused. "The central ingredient to this potion is blood from someone who has been killed using the killing curse," he explained. "It was during my sixth year at Hogwarts that the effect on the blood was discovered and various witches and wizards began doing research on the changes. I followed the research as best I could and began to conceive of a potion that made use of the victim's blood. There are others now, of course, none of which will appear in your Potions text."

"I should think not," she said with deep feeling. He expected her to turn the look of revulsion on him, to hate him for conceiving of such a horrible thing and to be furious that his Dark work was now endangering her friend. She surprised him by doing nothing of the sort. Instead, she sat on the bed directly across from him, apparently deep in thought. He was beginning to realize that he had misjudged Miss Granger by a considerable distance. He had known that she was brilliant. He had not expected the quiet strength he was sensing in her now.

"We need to figure out who's doing this," she said finally. "It looks as though Pettigrew was in on it, but he wouldn't have been the brains behind it. He didn't have what it took for that."

"No," Snape agreed. "Nor would he have been capable of brewing this potion," he held up the parchment, "or the one that killed Black. The man ranked just above Longbottom as the most incompetent Potions student I've ever seen. No, we're looking for a Master, and there just aren't enough of those to keep me out of Azkaban if all of this comes to light."

She looked at him, startled. "But _you_ didn't do it!"

"Thank you for your vote of confidence, Miss Granger, but I'll have a difficult time proving that. The Sharps already think I'm the one who was trying to get my hands on the cursed blood sample, the notes are in my hand, and I'm one of the few Potions Masters in England – and the only one who is a former Death Eater." His voice was heavy with bitterness. "But I'll be _sure_ to tell them that Hermione Granger says I didn't do it."

"Don't forget to add that I'm Head Girl this year," she said, glaring at him. "Maybe that will help."

He gave a snort of laughter at her unexpected comment, and seeing it, she chuckled along with him. "Thank you, Miss Granger," he said. "I needed that. I would not have credited you with such a twisted sense of humour."

"You seem to bring it out in me."

"We all have our gifts," he said lightly, rising. "Right now, we need to finish searching up here, and then I need to Apparate to St. Mungo's."

"Why St. Mungo's?"

"We need to find out if Peter Pettigrew's death qualified him as a blood donor."

"Oh! I hadn't thought of that," she said, and then, seeing the look of disdain on his face, she added, "I know, Professor. That's why you're in charge."

"Get back to work, Miss Granger." 

_________________________________________________

Hermione finished the books downstairs and then moved to the few that were kept in an upstairs bedroom. She searched the rest of the room as well, but found little of interest beyond the fact that a man appeared to have been using the room. His clothes hung in the cupboard, including a set of plain wizard's robes at the far back. It was clear, however, that whoever had been using this place had taken great care to limit their possessions to things that wouldn't give their identity away.

Snape appeared in the doorway. "Come look at this." He led the way into the bathroom in the hall, where the mirrored medicine cabinet was hanging open, revealing the contents inside. Most of the items appeared to be neatly organized Muggle products – shaving cream, toothpaste, lotion, and the like. There were several stoppered bottles, however, that were obviously potions. 

"A quiz," he said, handing her a bottle filled with purple liquid. 

"Dreamless sleep," she answered, barely giving it a glance.

"And this one?" he asked, putting the purple potion back in its proper place and removing one that was yellowish and slightly thicker. 

She opened the stopper and sniffed at it, immediately recognizing the smell of lavender. "It's an anti-wrinkle potion," she said. "Apparently we have a vain villain."

He chuckled a bit at that and handed her a third bottle, filled with nearly clear liquid. She sniffed at it. It smelled a bit sour, with a slight citrus tang, but she declined to taste it without further information. "I'm going to have to guess at this one, but it seems to have some of the properties of an analgesic."

"Very good, Miss Granger. You're close. This is a particularly effective curative for hangovers. I'm not surprised to find it here, given the amount of alcohol I found in the kitchen." He put the bottle back where it belonged, closing the cabinet. "I'm afraid there's nothing here that's very helpful, however. There was an antiperspirant and a breath freshening preparation as well, but it all just confirms what we already know, which is that a wizard gifted at potion-making has been residing in this house."

"Well, we can guess that he's older," she said, "from the anti-wrinkle potion."

He shrugged. "Given the lifespan of the average wizard, that's not terribly helpful. He could be anywhere from 30 to 150."

The house yielded no other clues, and after an hour more of searching they gave up, collecting what evidence they had found. Snape drafted the owl to Dumbledore, promising that they would take the Floo to Hogwarts that afternoon.

They were on the verge of leaving when Brody stopped them hesitantly. "Er, Professor? I'm going to have to ask that you sign for the things you're removing from the house. I'll need to make a list."

"Fine, then," Snape said impatiently. "Get on with it." 

He unpacked the things they had found in the kitchen and allowed Brody to itemize them. As the two men worked, Hermione surreptitiously tucked the roll of parchment into her knapsack. Snape cut his eyes at her briefly, and she gave him a round-eyed look of innocence in return. He returned to the list, scrawling his name at the bottom with the quill Brody handed him. "There. Let's go."

"Just a minute," Hermione said. "Harry's bag. You said you found it. Can we take it with us?"

Brody shook his head. "I'm sorry. We can only release his personal items to his next-of-kin."

"Professor Snape is Harry's godfather now," she said, causing both Brody and Snape to give her a look of surprise. "He _is_ his next-of-kin."

"Is that true, Professor?"

"I'm afraid so," Snape replied with obvious distaste. "If you find that as unbelievable as I do, you're welcome to confirm it with the Headmaster."

"Uh, no need for that," Brody said. "I'll just need you to sign for it like you did the other things." He produced another piece of parchment and handed Snape the quill, and then he handed the bag over to Hermione. 

"Thank you," she said, clutching it tightly. She wished it could talk, could tell her where Harry had been, what he had done, and where on earth he was now.

_________________________________________________

"I begin to think you were mis-sorted," Snape murmured, once they had gained the street.

"I can't imagine what you mean, Professor."

"I think you can," he said, but he allowed the subject to drop. They walked in silence for a few minutes. "I would prefer to go to St. Mungo's alone. The wizard in charge of the morgue there knows me, and I believe he'll allow me to take a blood sample from Pettigrew, but he'll be more cooperative if he thinks I'm working alone."

That made little sense to her, but she could only assume he knew what he was talking about – and besides, the St. Mungo's morgue wasn't anywhere on her list of Fun Places to Visit. "OK," she said. "What should I do while you're there?"

"You can go ahead to Hogwarts, if you wish."

She looked down at her clothes. "I might take the Floo home first, if that's all right," she said. "I need some more Muggle clothing, and I may as well use my own. My parents should be at work. They'll never know I was there."

"That's fine," he said. "Go home, get what you need, and then take the Floo to the Headmaster's office. I'll see you there."

"Er, do you know what time you'll be there?" she asked. "I'm not sure I want to face the Headmaster alone."

"Tut tut, Miss Granger, where's that famous Gryffindor courage?" he derided.

"Misplaced, at the moment," she answered crisply. "So what time do you think you'll be there? I'll time my arrival for just after yours."

"There's no need for that," he said. "You may take the Floo to my private quarters. If you follow the hallway to the right, it will lead into my laboratory. I'll give you the ingredients we found, and you can leave them in there. The bookshelf contains some of those books I mentioned earlier. You might begin with _Bottling_ _Death and Derangement, Volume II_."

"You're going to let me read _that_?"

"Of course," he said. "You're of no use to me uninformed. If you think you'll get squeamish, best tell me now and bow out of the whole thing."

"I do _not_ get squeamish, Professor," she said, affronted. "You just surprised me. Most of our teachers are forever trying to keep us from learning anything to do with the Dark Arts."

"Most of your teachers spend their lives arse over elbow," he said snidely. "It's absurd to think students can defend themselves against something they know nothing about. You are certainly intelligent enough to read this material without being damaged by it. If you weren't, I wouldn't have considered having you along."

__

Well, that was a surprising compliment, she thought, even if it had been delivered in that annoyingly Snape-ish tone and juxtaposed with an insult to her teachers, many of whom she adored. She knew better by now than to thank him or even to comment. "I'll get started on the book while I'm waiting on you."

"Good. We'll meet with Dumbledore when I arrive, and then, assuming he doesn't send you home, you can help me in the laboratory this evening." He gave her a stern look. "Under no circumstances are you to touch the things we removed from that house before I get there. Understand?"

"Of course, Professor. I can't imagine why you feel the need to praise my intelligence one minute and then insult it the next."

He snorted. "It keeps my world in balance, Miss Granger."

She rolled her eyes.

_________________________________________________

Harry felt his way around his prison, finding the bed the other man had said would be there and sitting down, pulling his knees to his chest. He wondered idly what the object was in keeping him there. Possibly the idea was to drive him crazy through confinement or claustrophobia, but he thought the chances of that were slim indeed. He never believed he'd be grateful to the Dursleys for anything, but life with them had been the perfect training ground for the situation he found himself in now. His cupboard had actually been smaller, he reflected, though it had had the advantage of some light. He remembered the time when the Dursleys had locked him in his room just before his second year at Hogwarts. He'd thought he might go crazy then, until Ron and Fred and George came to rescue him, but that had been because he missed his friends so terribly and couldn't bear the thought of not being able to return to Hogwarts. 

Having independently made the decision to forsake his friends and his school, being confined was easier. In fact, this might be the best place he could possibly be. He couldn't hurt anyone there, and if he stayed long enough, they would all eventually give up looking for him and go back to their lives – which would certainly be longer and healthier for his absence.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he would probably die right there in whatever hole he was hidden away in. He'd never been suicidal, had never thought he could willingly choose his own death, but he didn't fear it either. He had faced death so many times that it had become familiar, and familiar things lose their power to terrify. Perhaps he would see his parents again…and Sirius…and Ron. 

He was seventeen years old, and more of his loved ones were dead than alive. The statistical wrongness of that boggled his mind. 

He curled up in the bed and embraced his isolation.


	15. Back to Hogwarts

Hermione took the Floo to her parents' home, taking a few moments to make up with Crookshanks, who was clearly annoyed by the time she'd spent away. She then went to her room and began sorting through her clothes, packing an assortment of Muggle clothing as well as her favourite set of plain robes. She was halfway through this task when she realized that the suitcase she was using was the same one she had used when she went to visit Harry. She had left it sitting in the middle of her parents' living room.

No _wonder_ Dumbledore knew where she was. Her parents must have been frantic when they discovered her suitcase but no sign of her. She sighed and felt like an idiot, already dreading the moment when Snape found out what she'd done. On top of that was the guilt she always felt when she worried her parents needlessly. She considered phoning them at the office but decided that Snape had been right: forgiveness generally was easier to come by than permission, and if she didn't phone, her parents couldn't insist that she stay home. She hoped.

Instead, she drafted an apologetic note and left it in the kitchen, promising that she would owl soon and let them know that she was all right. After that, she kissed Crookshanks goodbye, saying, "Oh stop that!" as he glared balefully at her while she picked up her suitcase. "I'll be back soon. You take care of Mum and Dad for me." Crookshanks jumped up to his favourite spot on the sofa, turning around so that she had full view of his tail, which was twitching with irritation. 

"Be that way, then," she said finally, stepping into the fireplace and announcing Snape's rooms.

_________________________________________________

The invitation to Floo into his rooms had been unexpected, to say the least, and the most unexpected thing of all was that it seemed to be so freely given. She knew that Snape was a man who valued his privacy, and it had surprised her that he wasn't more protective of his personal chambers. When she stepped out of the fireplace, however, she began to understand. 

A part of her had been expecting Snape's rooms to be something like his classroom – all stone walls and damp gloom, perhaps with the occasional medieval instrument of torture used to enhance the décor. She felt quite confident that every student at Hogwarts would have had the same expectation. Instead, she found a suite of rooms that resembled the ones she had left behind at the Leaky Cauldron. Plain plaster walls, polished hardwood floor, simple, serviceable furniture, and…nothing else. She exited into his small sitting room and didn't dare venture into the bedroom she could see just through the doorway, but the overall impression of the place was that it was a set of rooms maintained as guest quarters for the occasional visitor. There was nothing of Snape there – nothing at all. It was more aesthetically pleasing than she had expected, and yet it was somehow even more depressing. She couldn't imagine occupying a space for as many years as he had that one without leaving any personal imprint. She automatically spread her personal items around any space she occupied. She was always surrounded by photographs of family and friends, awards she had won, gifts she had been given, books and more books, and of course, the irascible feline she had left twitching on her parents' sofa. It was inconceivable to her that anyone would want to live as if they were in a hotel room all the time. 

She was a bit inclined to snoop but stifled the urge, thinking that it would not be the proper way to repay his tenuous acceptance of her over the past few days. She made for the door and obediently turned right down the narrow hallway, finding his laboratory easily. 

This room _did _bear his imprint, in much the same way his classroom did. The workbench, where she placed the ingredients they had taken from the house, was impeccably neat, and the shelves of potion ingredients were rigidly organized. One corner of the room, however, was given over to controlled chaos. She saw a desk littered with piles of parchment and a bookshelf overstuffed with books. Still no pictures, she noted, but she did see a few items with the Hogwarts crest and a coffee cup in Slytherin green with a serpent forming the handle. That made her smile, for some reason – she wondered where on earth he'd gotten it and if there was a Gryffindor equivalent. It would make a wonderful Christmas present for her parents. 

From her look around his lab, it appeared that he was fanatically tidy only when he had to be – something they had in common. She was meticulously careful with her schoolwork – and her work in the Potions lab had always reflected that – but her personal habits were much more lax. She'd never seen the point in making the bed every day, when you were only going to climb into it again that night, and her vanity was generally littered with hair paraphernalia and the few cosmetics she used. She just couldn't be bothered to put them away. Her neatness was driven by practicality; if she couldn't discern a practical reason, she saw no point in putting forth the effort. 

She scanned the bookshelf and quickly found the book he had mentioned along with about twenty others that she was dying to read. Perhaps when this was all over he would consider allowing her to borrow from his collection; she might at least find the nerve to _ask_ after spending so much time in his presence. For the moment, however, she limited herself to the book that had been assigned. She had relaxed considerably around Snape in the last two days, but she was still nervous about doing anything to cross him. She had no doubt at all that he would send her home if she gave him the provocation. She only hoped that Dumbledore wouldn't send her home anyway.

She settled into his desk chair and began to read. The book could have been disturbing had it not been so dry; as it was, she was able to maintain an intellectual distance and to tell herself that this was just another Potions text, despite the fact that many of the ingredients were very different from those she had worked with before. She began to see, from the nature of the various potions that utilized human blood, the line of thought Snape had taken when he developed his theoretical potion. It was fascinating, really, like being given a glimpse inside his mind, and she withdrew the notes she had taken from the house on Arnold Street and began to make her own notes on a sheet of parchment she found on his desk. 

Twice she got up and went to his private supply of ingredients. Each shelf contained items in the same general category of usage and was further alphabetized to make finding the correct ingredient easier. She thought of the student shelves, with ingredients carelessly stuffed away in whatever space seemed sufficient. She suspected he couldn't even bring himself to look at that area of the classroom. It was no wonder, really, that he stayed irritable all the time. She perused his private stores, finding some of the things she was looking for but not all by any means. Each time, she made a note of what he had and what he didn't, assuming that the things he didn't have were the more difficult to obtain. She could check that with him later.

She had been reading and making notes for two hours when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She looked up and waited for Snape to enter the room. Instead, she found herself face to face with Albus Dumbledore.

"Hello, my dear," he said pleasantly. "I noticed you'd been down here alone for some time and thought I'd better check in on you."

How absurd it had been to imagine that she could hide from Albus Dumbledore in the Hogwarts castle. She suspected Snape had been perfectly aware that her attempt would be futile when he had let her try it. She managed a smile and said, "Hi Professor. I'm fine, thank you. Professor Snape asked me to wait for him here." She held up the book. "He gave me a reading assignment."

Dumbledore reached for the book and examined it. "Unless we've made some fairly radical changes to the seventh-year Potions curriculum, you must have found something in that house that I overlooked."

"Yes, sir. Though it might be better if Professor Snape explained…" She trailed off nervously.

He looked at her over the rims of his glasses. "That's fine, then. He should be here fairly shortly, I believe."

"Yes, sir. I expected him before this, actually."

Dumbledore nodded. "Perhaps his delay is for the best, Miss Granger, since you and I have something we need to discuss."

"Yes, sir." She felt miserable. Dumbledore was giving her a look that she had never seen from him before. He absolutely radiated disappointment and displeasure, and a part of her wanted to cry while another part was preparing to fight. 

"I believe I told you quite clearly that I wanted you to go home, Miss Granger. I did not think I needed to add that I wanted you to _stay_ there, and leave the search for Harry to those who are trained for such an activity. I don't think you appreciate the extent to which your disappearance worried your parents and me."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione said. "Truly I am. I didn't mean to worry anyone. I just…well, I just knew I had to find Harry. I didn't think much past that."

"I know that you acted out of a concern for Harry, Miss Granger. But in your haste, you gave no thought to the danger you were placing yourself in. We care about Harry immensely, but we are not willing to sacrifice you."

"I appreciate that, sir," she answered. "But what if I'm willing to sacrifice myself? I understand why you would never _ask _me to help look for Harry, but I don't think it's fair for you to keep me from it if I've been advised of the dangers and choose to help anyway."

"You're wasting your time, Albus." The sarcastic voice from the doorway made her jump. Snape had approached with his customary silence - though she noticed that Dumbledore didn't seem to have been taken by surprise. "There's no convincing the girl that Potter will be found without her _expert_ help."

Dumbledore's sober look began to give way to his customary twinkle. "You have arrived at an opportune time, Severus. I should like to hear your thoughts on this matter. I admit I was surprised to find that you had taken on a partner. It is quite unlike you in every respect."

Snape glared. "I took on an _assistant_, Headmaster, mostly because if I hadn't, she'd have probably just rushed right out again and risked her fool neck searching for Potter. I have no intention of spending the rest of my days looking for missing Gryffindors."

"I feel quite sure that if we send Miss Granger home again she will stay there, as requested," the Headmaster said firmly, glancing at Hermione. "However, I will leave that decision to you. If you would like to continue to have her assistance, I will allow it. If you feel the danger is too great for you to accept responsibility for her safety, or if you would simply prefer to work alone, then I will have to insist that she return home and stay there until term begins."

Snape narrowed his dark eyes and took in the sight of Hermione's hopeful face, the book in her hand, and the work she had spread over his desk before returning his gaze to the Headmaster. "With the exception of her grating cheerfulness at the breakfast table, she has been less annoying than I originally anticipated and has actually proven helpful on several occasions," he said grudgingly. "Assuming she's still willing to abide by our original agreement, I do not object to her continued assistance."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "High praise indeed, coming from you, Severus. I confess I expected you to give a different answer. Very well, then. Miss Granger, I am not completely easy in my mind about this, but you may continue assisting with the search for Harry for as long as Professor Snape will have you."

"Thank you, sir," she murmured. She knew better than to thank Snape in front of the Headmaster.

"Having settled that, I'd like to ask you both to join me in my office for tea. I am most interested to hear what you have learned so far."

_________________________________________________

Not even the pressing nature of their discussion could cause Dumbledore overlook the rituals of hospitality, and they were settled in comfortable chairs sipping hot tea before he looked to Snape for his report.

"Well, Severus. Tell me what you have learned."

Snape began at the beginning and left nothing out from the time he'd encountered Hermione in the Leaky Cauldron to his recent trip to St. Mungo's, where he had confirmed that Pettigrew did die of the killing curse. Hermione was impressed with his concise, dispassionate recital, particularly as it related to the discovery of his own notes. Dumbledore, for his part, remained silent until Snape was finished. 

"So Barter wants Fawkes to contribute a feather," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. 

"I'm glad it's not a rush order, as it gives us some time to figure out what I'm going to tell him," Snape said. "Unless you can convince Fawkes to just give me the feather and be done with it."

Dumbledore chuckled and looked at the phoenix. "Well, Fawkes, what do you think of that idea?"

Fawkes ruffled his magnificent feathers in obvious irritation, and turned on his perch so that he was facing the wall.

"I thought not," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Let's hope Harry will be found and it will be unnecessary to tell Barter anything at all. Now, I'd like to discuss your findings at the Arnold Street House."

"I thought you might," Snape said dryly.

"Have you any idea who might have taken that piece of parchment from you?"

"None at all. I didn't even know it had gone missing."

"Did you ever work with another student on the project?"

"Never."

"Hmmm. How many Potions Masters are there in Britain at this time?"

Snape thought for a minute. "I believe five others, besides myself. Two in private breweries, two in research, and that idiot at the Ministry."

"Ah, yes. Lancet," Dumbledore said knowingly. "Yes, I had the misfortune of accepting his offer of a headache potion after a particularly tedious meeting. The next twenty-four hours were spent…" he glanced at Hermione. "Well, I won't go into details, but I think we can scratch him off our list of suspects."

"I agree," Snape said. "It bears checking, but I think we can eliminate the others as well. They are all highly thought of in the field, and there has never been any indication that they were allied with Voldemort. However, I would point out that just because someone hasn't attained Master status doesn't mean he would be incapable of educating himself on dark potions. Most of the private sector brewers aren't Masters, and yet with some little research they would be capable of producing the incendiary potion that killed Black."

"Yes, but would they be able to take your twenty-year-old notes and extrapolate enough from them to successfully produce the potion you were developing? I doubt it." Dumbledore frowned and shook his head. "Have you ever taught a student with those capabilities?"

"Only one." Snape looked vaguely uncomfortable as Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in a question.

Snape sighed and glared at Hermione. "Really, Miss Granger, if you _are_ the guilty party, I'd consider it quite the favour if you'd just confess."

Hermione flushed at his words but had the presence of mind to respond in the same vein. "I'd love to help you out, Professor, but I ended my illicit potion brewing career in my second year here."

Dumbledore chuckled. "And a dramatic ending it was, if I remember correctly. No, Severus, I think we can eliminate Miss Granger from our list of suspects."

"You seem to be labouring under the delusion that we _have_ a list of suspects. I can think of no one – save myself, I'm sorry to say – who is at all capable of being behind this."

"I wonder…" Dumbledore said, staring into space for a moment. "You know, I went through the house with the Aurors yesterday. I didn't go through it as thoroughly as you did, of course, but I did notice something odd about the bathroom cabinet."

"Yes, we found potions there. I believe I mentioned that already," Snape said impatiently.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I saw the potions too, but of course, I'd already concluded from the things in the kitchen that the home was a wizard's, so the presence of potions in the bathroom wasn't surprising. Few wizards, even those who are determined to live as Muggles, can stand a total conversion to Muggle hygiene products."

Snape shuddered slightly at the thought. "Of course not. I was surprised not to find more potions than we did, frankly."

Dumbledore smiled slightly and then went on. "No, the thing that struck my attention was not the items in the cabinet so much as the way they were organized. Did you see nothing odd about it?"

Snape shook his head slowly and then glanced at Hermione for her impressions. She tried to picture the cabinet in her mind. "It was very neat," she ventured. 

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, nodding approvingly. "I would say unusually so."

"So we're looking for a _neat_ man who gets hangovers, tends to perspire, and is fighting halitosis and the signs of aging," Snape snapped. "_That_ certainly helps. If you have something to say, Albus, please say it. I have work waiting in my laboratory and the bloody Boy Who Lived yet to find."

"Calm down, Severus." Dumbledore gave him a disapproving look. "I was curious as to whether you had noticed the way the cabinet was organized. I would venture to say that your own bathroom cabinet is probably organized the same way – just as you organize your potions. According to use first and alphabetically second."

"That's exactly how it was!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise. "With each bottle facing forward so that you could read the packaging clearly. I didn't even notice that it was alphabetical, but looking back, I think it was. And I _did _notice that Professor Snape's potion ingredients are organized using that same system. Is that something all apprentices learn?"

Snape shook his head. "No. There's no single system. Each brewer just organizes his own supplies in whatever way works best for him. I'm sorry Albus, but unless you're accusing me, I fail to see your point."

"When did you begin using that system, Severus?"

"When I was here at Hogwarts, in my seventh year. I began using the private laboratory for my research. It was the system Professor Finbar had used, and as I helped myself to his private stores, I just got used to it. I've used it ever since."

"I'm wondering," said the Headmaster thoughtfully, "If perhaps he has too."

_________________________________________________

"Go through my stores and gather up these ingredients. We'll need to take them with us." Snape thrust a piece of parchment in Hermione's hand and then stalked to his workbench.

She hurried to do his bidding, going to the shelves and scanning for each item on the list, but she also watched him out of the corner of her eye. The only time she had ever enjoyed Snape in class was when he had demonstrated a technique for them. No matter how caustic his tone, his hands had moved as if to music, gracefully chopping and measuring his ingredients and then stirring the bubbling cauldron. Both the potion and the process became an extension of the dark man who gave them life, and she had always found it slightly hypnotic watching him work. 

Not so today. The grace and ease which he customarily exhibited in front of a cauldron were absent as he rattled around his workbench. He unpacked the ingredients he had taken from the Arnold Street kitchen, slamming the small containers down and tossing several zippered Baggies to the side. He began opening cabinets and closing them with a bang as he removed the items he needed. She had no idea what he was doing and didn't dare ask.

He chopped the Coddleswop root with unnecessary force and then dropped the small knife with a clatter when he cut his finger. "_Damn_ it!"

"Let me see," she said, moving towards him.

"It's fine," he growled, running the finger under cold water. "Look in the third drawer down and hand me a bandage."

"Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey," she suggested. 

"Maybe you should do as you're told," he snapped.

"Maybe if you hadn't been throwing a temper tantrum, you wouldn't have cut yourself in the first place!" She located the bandages in the drawer and practically flung one at him and then reached for the knife and began chopping the root into fine pieces, refusing to look at him as he awkwardly bandaged his own finger. "There," she said, finishing the root. "What next?"

"I thought I told you to pack ingredients."

"I'm finished. Now I'm going to help you with what ever it was you're trying to do."

"Have you forgotten where you are, Miss Granger? This is _my_ private laboratory, and you'll do _nothing _in here without my express permission."

"Professor, I refuse to sit back and watch you do yourself further injury by failing to observe the most basic safety rules – rules you taught me in my first week here. You're obviously upset right now, and you have no business handling some of these things until you're calmer."

He stared at her, momentarily speechless. No student had ever, ever dared to speak to him like that. When he found his voice, it had taken on an Arctic edge. "If it were term-time, Miss Granger, I'd have you spending so much time with Mr Filch that Mrs Norris would think you were her new mum. As it is, I'll just tell you that if you _dare_ to speak to me like that again, I'll have you home within the hour."

She met his fierce gaze calmly, leaning against the workbench with her arms folded across her chest. 

"Put on some gloves," he snapped. "Top drawer."

She turned to the drawer and hid her small smile of victory as she pulled on the gloves. "What are we doing?"

"Since we've been gifted with several of the ingredients, I'm going to begin making the antidote to the potion that killed Black. Unfortunately, it's one of the potions that keeps indefinitely, and there's no way to know how much of it was prepared. We could see another victim any day. The antidote takes a week, but I can get it started and have Madam Pomfrey monitor it while we're away."

He reached for his wand and lit a small flame under the cauldron, and she was pleased to note that his movements were smoother. Apparently threatening her was a calming experience. He reached for the root she had chopped and tossed that into the cauldron, where it gave off a foul smell as it began to heat up. Then he handed her the container of Fulcher Moss. "Shred this."

She went right to work, and he stepped in beside her, reaching for a pipette and adding liquid ingredients to a beaker, occasionally swirling the contents and holding it up to inspect the colour.

He spoke without turning to face her. "Do you have a favourite teacher, Miss Granger?"

"Well, I'm probably closest to Professor McGonagall," she said uncertainly.

"Of course," he said, giving her a quick glance. "She's your Head of House, has taken an interest in your studies, has praised your efforts in her class. Of course she'd be your favourite. Now imagine, for a moment, how you'd feel if she was killed mid-term. If suddenly you lost your Head of House and your favourite teacher."

"It would be terrible."

"Terrible. Yes. A bit inadequate, but since we don't have a thesaurus at hand, it will do. Yes, it would be terrible, but you would grieve that death and move on, as people must. Now imagine what it would be like to find out twenty years later that Professor McGonagall was not actually dead and that she was trying to destroy the world using – let's not forget this part – an idea conceived by you? And that she was likely attempting to implicate you in the crime at the same time?"

The word 'terrible' almost escaped her lips again, but she stopped it just in time. "I can't imagine," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't want your pity, Miss Granger. That's not my point. I'm merely explaining why I missed the obvious back at that house."

She didn't entirely believe that was what he had been saying, but she let it pass. "I certainly don't think less of you for failing to suspect a man you believed was long dead, Professor. I'm finding it a bit far-fetched even now. Maybe it will turn out to be someone else entirely."

"Maybe," he said, turning his attention back to the beaker. "But assuming he is alive, Finbar is the only person who has been mentioned who fits all the evidence. He was a brilliant Potions Master, knew of my research in the early stages, and was a Death Eater, though of course Dumbledore didn't know that until he was killed – or supposedly killed."

"That's amazing." She had trouble imagining anyone hiding anything from Albus Dumbledore.

"Indeed. And the fact that he is capable of that level of deception is just another piece of evidence suggesting his guilt. If he is alive, he's managed to stay hidden for twenty years. That cannot have been easy."

"I can't imagine how he faked his own death in the first place," she said. "Was he an Animagus, like Pettigrew?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Snape turned around and faced her again. "But those were such confusing times – you've had a taste of what it was like these last few years. It was difficult to know where any single person's loyalties lay, and there were frequent skirmishes between the Aurors and the Death Eaters. If Finbar disappeared after one such battle, it would have been a fairly simple thing for the Death Eaters to broadcast his 'death.' No one here would have questioned it. It's more surprising to me that _I _never heard of him during all my years as a Death Eater. Voldemort must have had a reason for keeping him hidden away, even from his own servants. It does explain why he never called on me for potions, however. That's my greatest strength, and yet he never showed any interest in having me brew for him."

Hermione almost asked what he _had_ done, but decided that she might not actually want to know. Instead, she went back to the task he had assigned her. "I'm through with these," she said, gesturing towards the pile of shredded moss. "What now?"

"I add this," he said, pouring the contents of the beaker into the cauldron and murmuring an incantation over it. "Now you add the moss."

"Ugh," she said, glancing at the fetid mixture with a grimace of distaste as she added the ingredient. "I don't envy Madam Pomfrey having to keep up with this one while we're gone. Speaking of which, I'm not sure I understand exactly where we're going."

"Ireland."

"Where, exactly?"

"It's unplottable. A forest, not unlike our Forbidden Forest here at Hogwarts. Neilus Finbar had a house there."

"In the middle of a dark forest?"

"Not exactly. More to the Western side." 

"So we're going to…what? Camp? In the middle of an unplottable forest?"

"No. We're going to use Dumbledore's vacation cottage."

Because she was watching carefully, she saw his mouth slide briefly out of control and realized that he was, if not quite teasing her, at least entertaining himself by doling out one bizarre piece of information after another. "Vacation cottage," she repeated. "Dumbledore just _conveniently_ happens to have a vacation cottage around the corner from Professor Finbar's house in the middle of a dark forest. How is it that they haven't run into one another while fleeing rampaging beasts?"

He snorted at that. "Dumbledore's vacation cottage is wherever he wants it to be. Why would he want to vacation in the same place every year?"

"I see," she said, not really seeing at all. Even in the wizarding world, most people didn't move whole houses around on a whim. "So he's putting the cottage somewhere in this forest in the hopes that we can find evidence that Finbar is still alive?"

"Exactly."

"Not to sound like a pessimist, but what if he _is_ still alive and isn't keen on the idea of neighbours?"

He gave her his most scathing look. "Do try to remember that Albus Dumbledore is a _wizard_, Miss Granger. The cottage is heavily warded. No one will know we're there, and we'll be quite safe from Finbar and anything else that might go bump in the night. We'll make that our home base and try to come up with a plan for getting into Finbar's house, which will also be heavily warded, if he has actually been living there when he was supposed to be dead. And before you even ask, _I'll _be conducting that particular part of the investigation."

"Then what's the point in taking me along?" she demanded. "I want to be doing something, Professor. Perhaps I should go back to London and handle the search on that end."

"Remus Lupin has undergone his transformation for this month, and he'll be taking over the London investigation as of tomorrow. He has not, however, agreed to accept responsibility for a student assistant. Dumbledore prefers that you remain with me."

"Why?"

Snape gave an exasperated sigh. "I believe he feels that you'll be safer with me. Lupin is upset right now. Grieving. Upset people are sometimes careless."

Hermione nodded, her glance flickering to Snape's bandaged finger. 

"_Don't _say it," he warned.

"I wasn't going to."

"Good." He went to his bookcase and extracted several books and added them to the box of ingredients Hermione had packed. "Now," he said, "I want to see the notes you made this afternoon."

_________________________________________________

Damn but the girl was brilliant. He'd taught bright students before, but never one with such an intuitive grasp of his own craft. He was stunned as he looked over the notes she'd made, realizing that with only a single reference book she had been able to follow his logic and make accurate and impressive leaps of her own. He had been half-joking when he'd told Dumbledore that Miss Granger was the only student he had ever taught who would be capable of brewing the potion, but it turned out to be the literal truth. It was an odd feeling, sitting next to a young girl who had managed to get inside his head and fathom his reasoning using only an old piece of parchment. It made him wonder with some unease what else she might have divined after being almost continually in his presence for several days. He was accustomed to being impenetrable, to everyone except Dumbledore, of course, and he did not welcome the intrusive insights of a seventeen-year-old girl.

But restlessly coexisting with the unease was the vague thrill of finally working with a student worthy of his attentions. As they went over her notes, turned pages in various books, and discussed the properties of arcane ingredients, he was reminded of his own apprenticeship, of the pleasure that had come with being in the presence of one who shared his interests and understood his motivations. He had spent years isolated from that kind of contact, and he couldn't deny that it was…refreshing. Had there been more Miss Grangers in his classroom, he might not have hated teaching quite so much.

They took a break for dinner, which Dumbledore had sent down to the laboratory for them, complete with a small table set for two.

"This was nice of him," she said as she sat down, "but I wouldn't have minded the walk up to the staff room."

He made a slightly derisive sound as he took the seat opposite her. "You give him too much credit. I believe he would prefer that you eat down here and remain out of sight of your Head of House, who might do both the Headmaster and me a serious injury if she knew what we were allowing you to do."

She looked surprised. "Where am I to sleep tonight?"

"I've arranged for you to use one of the Slytherin dormitories."

She nodded, and he thought she seemed a little relieved. "Do you ever get lonely down here?" she asked suddenly.

"Of course not. What a ridiculous question." 

She shrugged, appearing a little embarrassed. "I guess it is," she admitted. "But when you're used to being here as a student, you're used to constant noise and people. Being here between terms was strange for Harry and me. We eventually came to like it, but at first it seemed rather lonely. I just thought that being down here by yourself so much…well, you're right – it was a stupid question."

"I spend precious few hours here by myself," he said, wondering why he was bothering with an answer. "During term-time I'm in class most of the day and in the Great Hall for meals, just as you are. My duties as Head of Slytherin take up a great deal of time as well. I assure you that whatever time I spend alone down here qualifies as the best part of my day."

"It's very quiet," she observed. "I've noticed that in class before. You know that there's all this activity going on in the castle above, but you could never tell it being down here. The dungeons seem quite remote from the life of the castle. I suppose you like it like that."

He could tell from her tone and expression that she was just making conversation during another in a series of not-completely-comfortable shared meals. He had received his obvious cue to snap that of _course_ he liked it like that, and why wouldn't any sane person prefer to keep his distance from the mass of snivelling, irritating students that swarmed the castle above? It was the answer he should have given, but it died on his tongue, and instead he said, "I've another book I'd like for you to look at tonight. It might give you some ideas about how we might go about preparing an antidote."

She looked a bit surprised by the sudden reversion to their pre-dinner topic of conversation, but she nodded. "I'll take it to the dormitory with me and look at it before I go to bed."

"You'll only need concern yourself with the third and fourth chapters."

"I'd never considered the difficulty of devising an antidote for a potion that as far as we know hasn't yet been invented," she admitted. 

"Well, I'm sure I need not tell you that the odds of our being successful are remote in the extreme. When I conceived of the potion, I never intended that there would be an antidote. I'm hoping there won't be need of one now, but it pays to be prepared."

"Of course." 

They talked of the potion for the rest of the meal, and he felt the brief discomfort he had experienced ebb away as they traversed the familiar and soothing territory of his craft. 

_________________________________________________

Hermione rose early the next morning, as she usually did, and dressed in plain robes for her breakfast with the Headmaster and Snape before repacking her belongings and preparing for their relocation to the mysterious Irish forest. Her few trips into the Forbidden Forest had been unpleasant experiences indeed, and she thought, not for the first time, that Harry was going to have a great deal to answer for when he was found. 

Snape had told her that they would be breakfasting in the Slytherin common room, and when she arrived, it was still dark and quiet, with no sign of the Headmaster and Snape. She glanced around the room with it's dark stone walls and thought how much more pleasant the Gryffindor common room was. She was grateful to have been sorted into a house that roomed in a tower rather than a dungeon. She reached for her wand, happy to be able to use it again, and lit the fire and multiple candles in an attempt to cheer the room. She curled into a chair near the fire and was soon absorbed in the book Snape had given her the night before, looking up only when she heard the door slide open and saw the elaborately robed figure of Albus Dumbledore.

"Good morning, sir," she said pleasantly.

"Good morning, my dear. You're up bright and early I see." Dumbledore smiled and joined her in front of the fire.

"Always am," she said. "I'm an early riser."

"I gathered that from Professor Snape's comment yesterday." Dumbledore chuckled. "He tends to be a night owl and has little sympathy with those of us who enjoy the first part of the day." He glanced at the book in her hand. "May I ask what you're reading?"

She handed him the book. "We spent yesterday afternoon and evening researching a possible antidote to the potion on the chance that it's actually been created. Professor Snape thought this text might give me some ideas."

"And has it?"

She frowned a bit. "Possibly. It's all so theoretical right now that it's hard to say. The potion itself wasn't designed with any antidote intended, and of course, we don't even have a sample of it for testing purposes. If done properly, this kind of research would take years."

"And if Neilus Finbar is actually the one behind it, he's had years to perfect it," Dumbledore said heavily. "It's possible that it's already been used, during Voldemort's last rise."

"We discussed that last night. Professor Snape really doesn't believe that it was. He thinks that Voldemort probably wouldn't have been defeated if he'd had such a weapon at his disposal."

The Headmaster nodded. "Voldemort never fully appreciated the subtlety of potions, a fact for which we can now be grateful."

They both glanced up as the doorway to the common room slid open again and Snape entered. Dumbledore took one look at him and clapped his hands, causing the breakfast table to appear before the fire. Hermione reached for the coffeepot and poured a cup of coffee, adding milk as she'd seen him do the previous two days, and then handing it to him. She and Dumbledore both sat in careful silence as he drained the cup and then reached for the pot to fill it again.

"Good morning, Severus," the Headmaster said cautiously, when he saw the haze begin to lift.

"Good morning Albus, Miss Granger." Snape's voice was rusty but passably civil. "I trust you found your accommodations adequate."

"They were fine, thank you." 

"We'll need to discuss your accommodations in Ireland," Dumbledore said, pouring a glass of juice and offering it to Hermione. "I spent yesterday afternoon making all of the arrangements. I've set the cottage up and opened the Floo, but I plan to close it again as soon as you've arrived. Leaving it open invites questions from the Ministry that I'd rather avoid at the moment. I can Apparate there if I need you, but you'll otherwise be cut off from the rest of the world. I think the utmost secrecy needs to be maintained until we know exactly who and what we're dealing with. We can, of course, communicate by owl. I would suggest you take Hedwig with you."

Snape had continued steadily self-caffeinating as the Headmaster spoke and seemed almost normal when he responded. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you've lifted some of the enchantments on the place."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I didn't know they bothered you," he said, "and even if I had, there wasn't time. You'll be safe there, and that's the important thing."

Snape sighed and reached for a basket of scones, taking one and then offering the basket to Hermione. 

"I considered sending one of the house-elves with you," Dumbledore continued, "but it seems that they still bear something of a grudge against Miss Granger." He shot Hermione an apologetic look, and she rolled her eyes. "You can summon your meals from here, but I'm afraid you'll be on your own other than that."

"We'll be fine, Albus. It isn't a weekend house party."

Dumbledore chuckled. "No, I suppose not. Still, I hope you'll be comfortable. Remus is leaving for Diagon Alley this morning and will continue the search for Harry in London. If your investigation in Ireland proves to be a dead-end, I'm sure he'll be happy to have you join him there. It's a terrible time for him, poor fellow." 

Hermione made sympathetic noises, but Snape merely reached for his coffee cup again and then took up his fork and attacked the food on his plate, allowing Hermione and Dumbledore to carry the conversation for the rest of the meal.

_________________________________________________

After breakfast, they gathered their bags and said their goodbyes to the Headmaster. Just as Snape was about to step into the fireplace, Albus reached into his pocket and said, "Forgive an old man's forgetfulness, Miss Granger. You received an owl this morning. It was sent in my care." He handed her a small pouch, and she reached inside and withdrew her wallet, her eyes automatically seeking Snape's. 

Snape nodded. "Did he return the money?"

She rifled through it. "Every bit."

"That means he must have been in Diagon Alley sometime in the last couple of days," Dumbledore said. "I'll have Remus contact the post office and see if they have a record of when this package was sent."

Hermione tucked the wallet into her bag. "You'll let us know if he finds anything out?"

"Of course." Dumbledore gave her an encouraging smile. 

"Let's go," Snape said, and then he stepped into the fireplace and announced "_Solaris_." The minute he disappeared in a swirl of flame, Hermione followed him, feeling the nauseating sense of rapid motion and then landing with a bump in a new fireplace.


	16. The Cottage

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and immediately understood why the cottage was called what it was. She was in a room unlike any she'd ever been in before, with expansive floor-to-ceiling windows on every side letting in light and bursts of colour from the gardens that seemed to mingle with the décor. She could hardly tell where inside stopped and outside began. Wide French doors in the centre of the room led out to a patio that curved around the edges of a tranquil pond. There were no interior walls, just scattered furnishings mingled with plants and flowers, and a small stand of trees at one side of the room. Like the Great Hall at Hogwarts, the ceiling had been charmed to reflect the sky, so the room was filled with natural light. There was a conversation area in front of the fireplace, with a low sofa and a scattering of comfortable-looking chairs. On either side of the fireplace was a bookcase, filled with books and various interesting objects that begged to be examined more carefully. At the opposite end of the room were a small round dining table and four chairs. The single jarring note in what she was sure was the most peaceful room she'd ever seen was the Potions Master standing in its centre, looking around with a sneer of distaste.

"This is lovely!" she exclaimed.

"You think that now," he said. "You might change your mind."

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"The Headmaster tends to get bored while on vacation," Snape explained. "He entertains himself by enchanting various parts of the house. I've only been here once, but it was a memorable visit."

She giggled at his tone – which was an odd mixture of impressed and repulsed – and looked about the room more carefully, realizing that the only solid wall was the one behind her, with the fireplace and the bookshelves. Where on earth were they supposed to sleep? "There are rather a lot of windows, aren't there?"

"Indeed. If memory serves, that one there leads to the kitchen," he said, pointing to a window that appeared to look out over the woods. 

She inspected it more carefully. It gave every indication of being a perfectly normal window, but when she touched her hand to a pane, the window slid open and revealed a small kitchen. She saw a basket of fresh fruit sitting on the counter next to a gleaming coffee pot with Snape's Slytherin mug sitting beside it. 

"Well, you'll have your coffee in the morning," she said.

He poked his head in the door…window. "Still the kitchen, then. It wouldn't have surprised me if he'd moved it. It's been years since I was last here."

"Why were you here then?" She moved out of the kitchen and began inspecting the rest of the expansive room.

Snape snorted. "Albus heard of some idiotic Muggle bonding ritual called a 'retreat.' He decided all the Heads of House should retreat here one summer for a weekend."

She laughed. "What purpose was it supposed to serve?"

"It was to 'facilitate inter-house relationships through better cooperation and understanding'," Snape said sarcastically, obviously quoting. "He got us all T-shirts with our House emblem on them. We had to wear the bloody things all weekend long."

Hermione burst out laughing. If she tried really, really hard, she could imagine Snape in a T-shirt – she had at least seen him in Muggle clothing before – but Professor Flitwick? Never! Professor McGonagall in anything but staid robes? Impossible. 

"Did Professor Dumbledore wear a T-shirt too?" she managed.

"Professor Dumbledore makes it a habit to retain his dignity while all around him are losing theirs," Snape answered caustically. "_No_. He did not wear a T-shirt." 

Hermione was still laughing as she made her way instinctively over to the bookshelves. "These are all Potions books," she said with surprise, running fingers lightly over the bindings. 

"You've been thinking about Potions," he said. "The books reflect the topic most on the witch or wizard's mind – the thing you most want to read."

"Really? I've never heard of an enchantment like that. Why did you bother packing books then?"

"Well, in the first place, I'd forgotten about that particular charm, which is one of several hundred here, and in the second place, as I recall it was very imprecise. You can't guarantee that any particular book will be there – just the general subject matter. Albus doesn't do research here, so all he cares about is that he has something to keep him entertained. I believe when he approaches the shelf it generally fills with Muggle mystery novels."

"I have the feeling I'm going to learn a lot about the Headmaster while I'm here," she said. She closed her eyes and thought about Transfiguration, and sure enough, the shelves filled with Transfiguration books. She'd give anything to have a shelf like this in her room, imprecise or not.

She left the books reluctantly and continued to wander the room. "He certainly managed to find a nice spot for the cottage," she said, looking out at the pond. "The pond is beautiful."

"It comes with the house." 

"Of course. Silly of me," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "This place is amazing."

"This place is absurd." He began examining the shelves to the right of the fireplace and picking up one strange-looking knickknack after another. Hermione watched curiously until finally he lifted a small silver ball and the bookcase disappeared, revealing an arched doorway into a lavish bedroom. "I'll take this room. There are several more upstairs."

She glanced around the room again and saw no sign of a staircase. "Can you give me a hint?"

"Other end," he said, gesturing toward the far end of the room, near the kitchen. "It's one of the windows, but I don't remember which one."

Hermione felt silly patting windowpanes, but she finally found the right one, and the window slid to one side and revealed a narrow spiral staircase, which led to two more comfortable bedrooms with an adjoining bath. She picked one based on its superior view of the pond, little trusting that the same view would be there the next day or even an hour hence, but at that moment it gave the room a slight edge over its neighbour. She went back downstairs. "Can I borrow your wand to move my bag up the stairs? They're a bit narrow."

"I'll do it." He reached for his wand and transported her luggage to the top of the stairs.

"Thank you." She spent a few minutes settling in, changing from her robes to Muggle jeans and a shirt, and then went back down to find Snape. He was eying the chairs in front of the fireplace with a wary eye.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to remember which of these chairs is Albus's."

"They all are, aren't they?"

"Not exactly. There's one that only Albus can use. I think it's that one," he said, pointing to a chair upholstered in muted blues and greens and settling on the sofa instead. "I'd avoid it."

"Surely the Headmaster doesn't mind us using his favourite chair."

"He doesn't mind at all," Snape said bitterly. "It's the bloody chair that minds."

"Oh." She looked at the chair more carefully. It seemed perfectly normal to her, but she decided she'd take his word for it and chose the chair opposite, only to be bucked violently onto the floor. Snape laughed.

"You did that on purpose!" she exclaimed, rubbing the elbow she had banged on the tiles and gathering herself up with what dignity she could muster.

"I didn't," he said, still chuckling, "but that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it immensely. If it makes you feel any better, I had the exact same experience when I was here last. But now that we know which one it is…" He took his wand and banished the chair to an empty corner. It sat there for a moment, long enough for Hermione to tentatively seat herself in another chair, and then scuttled back to its customary place before the fire. 

"I begin to see what you meant," she said, glaring at the cantankerous piece of furniture. "Mr Weasley has always told us never to trust something that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain. This place would shred his nerves."

"Indeed. Flitwick and Sprout enjoyed it immensely, but Minerva and I couldn't get back to Hogwarts fast enough."

"It does all seem a bit fanciful for Professor McGonagall," Hermione said with a grin, recovering her good humour. "I'm still trying to picture her in that T-shirt."

"And I'm still trying to forget it," Snape said dryly, making her laugh. When she had sobered he changed the subject. "If you're done with the tour, perhaps we should discuss our plan for today."

"Certainly."

"Albus said that Finbar's cottage is about two miles North of here. He gave me precise coordinates so that I could Apparate to a clearing in the wood just out of sight of his house. I'll go there just after lunch today and check the place out. If it appears completely abandoned, I'll come straight back here and we can head to London."

"And if it's not?"

"Then we settle in and decide what to do next."

She nodded. "I'll continue the research on the antidote while you're gone," she said. "Where are the books you packed?"

"In my room," he said, rising. "I'll get them."

When he returned he gestured toward the dining table. "Let's spread out over there," he suggested. 

They picked up where they had left off the previous night, and as he questioned her about the reading she had done, it occurred to her that he was treating her almost as…an equal. He wasn't drilling her as he had about the Ashwinder eggs or deliberately trying to catch her in a mistake as he usually did in class. Instead, he seemed genuinely interested in her insights and opinions. He wasn't gushing over her – she wouldn't expect that – but the heavy layer of sarcasm that usually coloured his speech seemed to have been lifted overnight, and she found that she was actually _enjoying_ their conversation. She had seen brief flashes of humour in him over the last few days, and she had definitely found him more approachable out of class than in it, but she had never been able to actually relax enough to enjoy talking to him. This felt much like sitting with Harry and Ron in the Hogwarts library, except that his mind was attuned to hers in a way that theirs had never been.

She liked it.

And she felt a bit guilty for liking it. They were there because her best friend was missing and was being threatened by someone who had dark plans for him and the world. She shouldn't be _enjoying_ anything about it. But there was a part of her that viewed Severus Snape as the last frontier. He was the final holdout on the Hogwarts staff – the one teacher who refused to acknowledge her intellectual achievements. She didn't count Sybil Trelawney because Trelawney was a fraud and not worth cultivating. But Snape was different. She didn't care if he liked her; she wanted him to show her abilities the respect they deserved. Finally, it seemed like that was happening.

Despite her feelings of guilt, she liked it.

_________________________________________________

They ate their lunch with the books still spread over the tables, discussing the relative merits of Yekko brains and Billiwig stingers in potions treating psychological conditions. It would have put most people off their meal, but neither of them gave it a thought. Afterwards, he stood, cleared the table with his wand, and prepared to leave.

"Wait," she said, running up the spiral stairs and returning with Harry's knapsack. "Take this with you." She handed him the invisibility cloak, and as he took it from her hand, their eyes met and she knew they were both thinking of the last time he had used the cloak. It had been in her third year, and it had not been a good night. 

He nodded briefly and tucked the cloak under his arm. 

"If I don't return within three hours, send an owl to Dumbledore. Do _not _attempt to come after me, is that clear?"

"Yes," she said. "Be careful. Have fun storming the castle."

"_What_?" 

She shook her head. "Nothing. Muggle movie. Forget I said it. Just…good luck." 

He gave her a curious look and nodded – apparently the words "thank you" weren't in his vocabulary – and then Disapparated, leaving her alone in Dumbledore's enchanted cottage.

_________________________________________________

An hour later, she'd mentally replaced the word "enchanted" with "booby trapped" and was much closer to adopting Snape's view of the place. While looking for a cloth to wipe up the table, she'd had her hand snapped by two angry kitchen drawers. She'd gotten too close to Dumbledore's chair again on her way to the bookshelf and had received a kick on the ankle. It was apparently holding a grudge. She accidentally touched one of the windows in just the right place and fell into a broom closet, which provoked the brooms to begin sweeping up the place with alarming energy. She'd just barely gotten them corralled again when a sudden rainstorm erupted in the small stand of trees nearby, soaking her to the skin.

__

How on earth does he dream this stuff up? she thought, irritated, as she made her way upstairs to change. She was combing out her wet hair when she realized that the mirror in her bedroom must be charmed too. It didn't seem inclined to talk, ironically enough, but there was something odd about her reflection. It was like her in every respect – feature for feature she recognized herself – but it was an enhanced version, improved somehow in ways she couldn't put a finger on. Even soaking wet, she thought she looked more attractive than usual – certainly more attractive than she had looked when she had gotten dressed that morning. She made a mental note to ask Snape about it when she saw him next, and that prompted the realization that she really had expected him back already.

She glanced at her watch, a comfortingly Muggle device that had numbers on it and told actual time, and saw that Snape had been gone nearly two hours while she had been busy wrestling with various enchantments. 

Worry set in, and she made her way downstairs and took a book to a large upholstered rocking chair in a corner near the bookshelves, which fortunately behaved exactly as a chair should. She tried to read and couldn't. Where was he? Apparition was virtually instantaneous. Surely it wouldn't have taken him more than a few minutes to confirm whether someone was living in the house. He should have been back long since. She hadn't really taken him seriously when he'd told her to owl the Headmaster if he didn't return; she was still clinging to her naiveté about how dangerous this business really was. She glanced at Hedwig, napping on Fawkes' elaborate perch amongst the trees, and thought of how terrifying it would be if she had to stay alone here, not knowing where Snape was, waiting for the Headmaster to come for her. She uncurled herself from the chair and began pacing the room, avoiding contact with any of the furnishings.

It was ridiculous to feel cooped up in a room that was more outdoors than in, but she felt drawn outside to the pond. Snape hadn't told her what her boundaries were outside, but surely the patio was safe? Her hand was on the knob of the door when she gasped, startled by Snape's Apparition on the other side of the glass.

She wrenched the door open. "Where have you _been_?"

He gripped the doorframe to hold himself upright. "Could we save that conversation for later?" he managed.

Her eyes flew up and down his dark form, finding a bloody tear in his trousers and catching a glimpse of mangled flesh beneath. "You're hurt!"

"Your grasp of the obvious is impressive, as ever," he said, reaching one arm out to her and indicating that he needed her help.

She shifted to his side, putting an arm around his waist and supporting as much of his weight as she could as she helped him into the cottage. 

"Bedroom," he said through clenched teeth. "I need to get off this damned leg."

She could hear his sharp intake of breath with every painful step, but she didn't dare rush him. She let him set the pace as they made their way toward the bookshelf that led to his bedroom, looking up from the floor, a bit queasy, when she saw splatters of blood.

"We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey," she said, feeling a bit faint. 

"The Floo is closed, and I'd get splinched if I tried to Apparate again in this condition. I'm amazed I got here at all. You're going to have to do it."

"I'm going to have to do _what_?" she said, a shrill edge of panic to her voice.

"Whatever needs doing. Touch the silver ball."

She did, and the bookshelf disappeared and revealed the room behind. "There's no way I can lift you up there," she said, eyeing the huge four-poster bed. 

"Down, bed," Snape commanded, and the bed seemed to kneel, lowering itself enough that she could shift his weight away and he could roll onto it, hissing as the injured leg was jostled. 

"You need to see how bad it is," he said, when he could speak again. She saw that he had broken out in a fine sweat, and his normally sallow complexion was ashen with pain and loss of blood. "It must have missed the artery, or I'd be dead by now. It might be that you can tend to it in the Muggle way."

She didn't dare point out to him that her Hogwarts education had given her precious little instruction in Muggle first aid. She would come a lot closer to being able to deal with it magically than in the Muggle way. She reached tentative fingers to the tear in his trousers, separating the soaked material and grimacing as she saw the wounded thigh beneath. It was a ragged gash, perhaps six inches long and angled across the thigh but so covered in blood that she couldn't tell how deep it was. 

"Well?" he demanded.

"I can't really tell how bad it is," she said. "There's so much blood. I need to get some towels and clean it up a bit."

"Check the bathroom," he said, gesturing to a doorway and then closing his eyes.

Hermione went into the bathroom, opened the cupboards, and searched for something – anything – in the way of first aid supplies. She found an old-fashioned shaving kit complete with a straight razor that looked as if it could easily decapitate a careless user, several different bath potions, and a silver toothbrush, but absolutely nothing that would help her tend the injured man in the next room. There wasn't so much as a Band-aid. She had always revered Albus Dumbledore, but she was certain that if he were to walk in the cottage at that instant she would hex him on sight. A straight razor? The man hadn't shaved in a hundred years! He packed a _pond_, for crying out loud, but apparently he couldn't trouble himself about a bit of iodine.

She growled her frustration and then stepped out to the bedroom and borrowed Snape's wand. Back in the bathroom, she reached for a glass and filled it with water and then used his wand to transfigure the water into a simple rubbing alcohol solution. She sniffed it to be sure it had worked and then grabbed several towels, dampening two of them and leaving a third dry. She took her crude supplies back into the room where the injured man lay on the bed awaiting her ministrations.

"I'm…er…going to have to remove your trousers."

"Get on with it then," he growled. He seemed to have recovered himself a bit now that he was resting on the bed.

So that's how it's going to be, she thought, determined to handle the moment with the same degree of equanimity. Still, she blushed when he reached for the buttons at his fly and kept blushing the whole time she helped him pull the tattered fabric away from his body. Thank goodness he was wearing boxer shorts beneath. She felt sure that anything more revealing would have undone her completely.

"Really Miss Granger," he said disparagingly. "You're seventeen years old, and I feel quite sure you've seen a man's legs before."

"I'm not in the habit of undressing my Professors," she snapped.

"Commendable, I'm sure, but in this case I would be much obliged if you'd get over this ridiculously Victorian attack of blushing and get on with healing my wounds. I'm looking forward to walking again sometime soon."

"Fine." She gathered control of her nerves and somehow willed the blood in her face to return to whatever obscure parts of her body it had come from. She looked more closely at the mangled flesh of his leg; the blood had begun to clot and now merely ran in a trickle, but it was obviously a deep wound and would have to be healed magically if he was to avoid infection. "I'm going to clean the wound first, and then I'm going to _have_ to use my wand. I've never done this before, and I don't dare try it with yours."

"For once I happen to agree," he said, gritting his teeth as she gently explored the ragged edges of the wound with her fingertips. "Albus can handle the Ministry if there's a problem. Better that than lose the use of my leg."

"Quite so, since I have no intention of carrying you," she snapped. 

She got to work immediately, pressing the damp towels to the wound to clean off the blood that had dried and matted in the silky hairs on his leg. She worked gently and carefully to make sure there were no debris that would be trapped when she healed the incision, and then glanced up at him and said, "Hold still, Professor. This is going to hurt you much worse than it hurts me." She drenched a corner of one towel in the alcohol and then began wiping around the wound, moving closer and flinching a little when she knew she was about to make contact with the raw flesh. 

He arched up off the bed with a stream of profanity, and she held the leg down with all the strength she possessed. "I told you to hold _still_!"

"Have you lost your mind?" he shouted. "Do you know how many antimicrobial potions there are that _don't _sting, that don't cause any pain at all?"

"I do, Professor, but oddly enough, none of them were immediately to hand," she snapped. "I had to do a transfiguration with someone else's wand, and this seemed the safest thing to try. If you have a better suggestion, I'd love to hear it."

"Just _finish_," he hissed through clenched teeth. 

"With pleasure. You make an abominable patient." She reached for her own wand and concentrated, recalling the reading she had done on healing traumatic lacerations. Stop the bleeding first, she thought. "_Sutura venae_." 

She glanced at Snape, but he was merely watching her with an edgy attentiveness, and she couldn't tell from his face whether he had noted any improvement. She didn't want to worry him by asking, nor did she want to look for herself to confirm that the vessels had reconnected. Snape shifted restlessly and she decided to move on. It had been years since she had botched a charm, and she had no reason to doubt her abilities now. She went on to heal muscle and sinew, and once these charms had been completed, she felt him relax enough that she believed they had been successful, and the knot of tension in her stomach began to loosen. She spoke the final incantation, "_sutura dermis_," and watched in breathless relief as the skin knit itself together again, leaving only the faintest trace of a scar. 

Snape exhaled as the last of the pain left him. "I am once again happy about the fact that you are an insufferable know-it-all, Miss Granger. I would not have wanted the fate of my leg to rest in the hands of most of your classmates."

"A simple 'thank-you' will suffice, Professor," she answered coldly, his sarcastic drawl landing like a splash of acid on her frayed nerves. She began gathering up the bloody towels without looking at him. 

He wrapped long fingers around her wrist, staying her hand. "Thank you." 

She stared at him then, astonished by the simple words and the tone in which they were issued. His dark eyes were utterly sincere and the sneer had been wiped from his face. He looked…pleasant, she realized, and a little amused at her response to his words.

"You're welcome," she said softly, suddenly aware that he was still holding her wrist. He seemed to become aware of it at the same time and released her, leaving a tingling sensation where his fingers had been. She was still staring at him, she realized self-consciously. "Uh, perhaps you should try to do something about your trousers," she suggested, handing him his wand and feeling the dreaded blush creep over her cheeks. 

"Yes," he agreed. "Perhaps that would be best." She wasn't sure, but she imagined that she saw a hint of colour on his own cheeks at that. She bustled out with the towels and left him to it, and it was only a few minutes before he was joining her in the solarium, again choosing the sofa as the safest option.

"Well," she said, curling up in the chair opposite him. "Now that you're in one piece again, suppose you tell me what you found out and what on earth happened to your leg."

"It's him," he said bluntly, rubbing one hand over a cheek still pale from his recent trauma. "The place is heavily warded – so heavily that it took me a good deal longer than I expected to counter them. He's checking for sound, body heat, motion – everything you can think of. I entered through the back door after checking the windows to make sure he wasn't in the room. I was in the kitchen, which is probably the least informative room of the house, but it was obvious that someone was living there."

"But of course you knew that already. Why would someone bother casting wards on an abandoned house?"

"Of course," he nodded. "And wards such as these took some thought. It was obvious that whoever was living there didn't want company. I made my way into the study, thinking I would certainly find my confirmation there, and in fact I did. The shelves were filled with potions books, many of which I recognized as belonging to Finbar's private collection."

"But they could have been there since he died," she pointed out. "It was his house, after all."

"True, but there were also some notes on the desk, and there was no question but that they were written in his hand. The parchment seemed fresh. It looked as if he had just set down his quill to go tend to something and planned to return soon."

"Why didn't you just leave right then?" she demanded.

"I should have," he conceded. "I should have just gotten my confirmation and left, but instead I decided to look for some evidence that connected him to Potter. The fact that Finbar faked his death is obviously incriminating. It virtually guarantees that he's been on the Dark side for years. But it doesn't necessarily guarantee that he has Potter or has it in for Potter. And even if it did, I'd feel more comfortable about calling in the Aurors if I had an idea of whether Potter might be hidden in that house. It's an old house with nooks and crannies from attic to cellar, and if what we think is true, Finbar has already succeeded once in spiriting Potter away before the Aurors even had the chance to arrive. The more information we can give them, the better the chances of them getting him out alive."

Hermione nodded. "So what did you find?"

"Not a bloody thing," he said bitterly. "I walked out of the study and heard his footsteps on the stairs. The passageway is narrow right there, and if I'd stayed where I was he'd have walked right into me. I started backing toward the kitchen, and he must have heard me because he pulled his wand. I stood still for a few seconds, hoping he'd think it was nothing, but he kept coming toward me and I decided just to Disapparate." He gave her a wry smile. "Only to learn that he had established a Disapparition shield."

"You can't Disapparate from there?"

"No, and I would assume the opposite is also true – another reason why I would like to give the Aurors as much information as possible. If they can't Apparate directly into the house, they'll have to enter from the outside, as I did, which will give him a greater chance of getting away. Anyway, he kept coming toward me, and I had to keep moving. I made it to the kitchen and wound up backed into a corner behind the table, so of course, he decided that would be a good time to have a snack."

"But he wasn't still following you?"

"No, that was the good news. He seemed to have decided there was nothing there. He fixed a sandwich and sat down at the table to eat. I was no more than three feet away and I could hardly breathe for fear of being discovered. I feel certain that you and your friends have had similar experiences over the years."

She smiled. "Once or twice."

"Well, he took his time finishing his meal, and then he did something really intriguing. He fixed a second sandwich. Fixed a whole tray, as a matter of fact."

Her eyes widened. "_Harry_," she breathed.

He shrugged. "It's circumstantial, of course, but it's obvious that there's someone else in the house – someone who's not taking his meals at the table. Unfortunately, I couldn't risk looking just then. I stepped out the back door and decided just to return to the woods to Disapparate. I climbed the fence and reconstructed his wards from just outside and then began the walk into the woods." 

"Why didn't you just stun him there in the kitchen?" Hermione interrupted.

He sighed. "A list of reasons. You can't cast spells through that damned cloak, so I couldn't have done it without revealing myself. We don't know for sure yet that he has Potter in the house. If I had drawn my wand, I'd have likely wound up in a duel, and if I had lost the duel, I'd have left you stranded here by yourself, and you'd be no closer to finding Potter. If I had won, I would have been killing our best witness. If he has Potter, there's no telling where he's hidden and no guarantee that we'll find him on our own. It seemed best to come back here and plan a bit more carefully before I started throwing curses around."

Hermione didn't look entirely satisfied by that, but she let him move on. "So you were going to come back here…" she said, glancing at his leg.

He followed her glance. "It is not a friendly forest," he said. "I consider myself lucky to have gotten off so easily. I'd only gone about a hundred yards when I found myself face to face with a very angry Graphorn."

"A _Graphorn!_ I thought they were only found in the mountains."

"Well, apparently no one has informed this one, as he seemed quite territorial. It would have taken four wizards to fend him off with magic; you know how thick their hides are – everything I tried bounced right off."

Hermione was on the edge of her seat. "What on earth did you do?"

"I did what any sane person would have done. I climbed the nearest tree, hoping to catch my breath enough to Disapparate without getting splinched. Unfortunately, I chose my tree poorly, and this one belonged to a rather nasty Bowtruckle. It attacked, and I slid part of the way down the tree, cutting my leg on one of the branches. At that point, I decided that being splinched was preferable to staying in that infernal forest. I shook off the Bowtruckle and Apparated back here."

"You were lucky," Hermione breathed.

"I didn't take that view at the time," Snape said dryly, "but inasmuch as I'm in one piece now, I suppose you're right. I do wish I'd managed to kill the Graphorn, however. I could stand to replenish my private stores of powdered horn, and the prices they're getting these days are outrageous." 

"Well, now you know why." Hermione chuckled and then fell silent as she processed all he had told her. "Professor, is it possible to shield a house so that people _can_ Disapparate directly out of it but no one can Apparate directly into it?"

"Of course," he said. "I was merely assuming that he would have blocked Apparition into the house. I don't know for sure that he's done it."

"No, I think your assumption is a logical one. I was just thinking that if it is possible to do a one-way block, it would make far more sense to block Apparition into the house than out of it. You're only inconveniencing yourself by warding the place so that you have to go outside to Disapparate…"

"Unless," he said, picking up on her train of thought, "You have someone who is being kept in the house against his will."

"Exactly," she said, "and even though Harry's not old enough to Apparate and hasn't had any lessons, I'm willing to bet that Finbar doesn't want to take any risks. Harry told me once about a time when his cousin and some of his cousin's friends were chasing him, threatening him with something or other. He said he suddenly found himself on top of the school building."

"How old was he at the time?" Snape asked, sounding impressed in spite of himself.

"I'm not sure. Nine or ten maybe."

"He's fortunate he didn't wind up splinched beyond all recognition."

She shrugged. "It's Harry."

"Quite," he agreed, "only it seems that his luck might have run out."

_________________________________________________

He yearned for nothing more than a blank mind. 

In the past, he had been able to cling to a single happy thought during times of trouble. His return to Hogwarts at summer's end…the next Quidditch match…time in Hogsmeade with his friends. But now, there were no thoughts that didn't cause him pain. He had nothing to look forward to, and nothing but pain came from looking back. 

He would start out remembering a happy time, but most of his happy times had involved Ron to one degree or another. Now, all thoughts of Ron led to the final image of him fallen at Voldemort's feet, Voldemort's laughter providing a sickening soundtrack as the hatred boiled through Harry's veins.

His time with the Dursleys could hardly qualify as happy, and even his brief time with Sirius had been coloured by his grief over Ron's death. And then it, too, was cut short. There were moments at Hogwarts that had been happy, but Hogwarts was inexorably tied to his being a wizard, to his being The Boy Who Lived_, _and those thoughts brought no comfort now.

Hogwarts had led him here – wherever 'here' was. He was a corpse with a beating heart, consigned to a furnished grave, and he wished for nothing more than to drape the blackness that surrounded him over the vivid canvas of his treacherous memory.

A sudden shaft of light came and went, burning his eyes.

"Hello, Harry. I've brought you some food." The soft voice seemed to surround him, breathed out by the earthen walls. "There's a bottle here as well. Just a little something to help you sleep. You need your rest, Harry."

Muffled footsteps, the flash of light, and he was alone again in his quiet tomb.

He leaned forward, his nose guiding him to the food, and he let his fingers play lightly over the tray until they closed on the bottle…the promise of sleep.

He drank.

_________________________________________________

A/N: "Have fun storming the castle" is from "The Princess Bride." 


	17. Teacher's Pet

Snape and Hermione continued to talk, picking their way through their evening meal and then moving back to their customary seats in front of the fireplace. They both agreed that there was a good chance Harry had been kidnapped and was somewhere in Finbar's house. Hermione had never believed that he had willingly left the scene of Pettigrew's death in London. She was convinced that he had been taken at that point, and Snape concurred. It didn't necessarily mean that he was being hidden in Ireland, but the tray Finbar had prepared and the Disapparition shield on the house were suggestive. 

The difficulty was in getting into the house to find out. Hermione was for calling in the Aurors without delay, but Snape disagreed, arguing that the Aurors were likely to bungle the job, as they had in London, putting Harry at too much risk if he was in the house. 

Hermione paced in front of the fireplace. "It's so _frustrating_ to think that Harry could be just two miles from here, and we can't do anything about it!"

"I agree," Snape said wearily. "And the longer we wait, the more likely it is that he'll either be moved or the potion will be administered."

"We need to watch the house. If he does leave, he'll have to go outside to Disapparate, and we'll see him."

"It's a long shot, but it probably is the best we can do," Snape agreed. "Unfortunately, there's no single vantage point from which to watch both the front and back of the house. I'll have to move back and forth between them, staying out of sight the entire time. I can use the invisibility cloak again, I suppose. I don't dare cast any warning spells for fear of interfering with the wards he already has in place."

"I'll take one door."

"No. You won't."

"_Yes_. I will." Hermione gave her Professor a fierce look. "I did not come along to stay here and chase brooms back into the broom closet. You need a second pair of eyes, and you refuse to call in the Aurors. I'm going with you."

"It's too dangerous," he snapped. "Look at what happened to me today." He gestured to his leg.

"What happened to you might _not_ have happened if you'd had the sense to take me with you in the first place. Don't they teach wizards about the buddy system?"

"We're not going in swimming or for a pleasant hike in the woods, Miss Granger. You and I had an agreement that your life would not be placed at risk. I can't be responsible for keeping you safe _and_ finding Potter."

"Damn you!" she exclaimed, surprising them both. "Would you please make up your mind? You trusted me with books about Dark Magic. You trusted me to perform advanced healing spells on your own leg. Now you're acting like I'm some first year who doesn't know a wand from a tree branch! I'm in my final year at the head of my class, Professor, and I've faced danger before – quite a few times, actually – and managed to survive it. I, for one, don't attribute that to sheer good luck. I think it's just possible that I'm smart enough and powerful enough to actually make you an able assistant if you'd have the sense to let me help you. I don't care what I said back in the Leaky Cauldron that morning. If you're going to that house looking for Harry, then _I'm going with you_."

She stood before him with her hands on her hips, and he looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Are you finished?"

"That depends on what you have to say."

Snape exhaled and muttered something under his breath that she couldn't quite make out. "How do you propose we both stay concealed with only one invisibility cloak between us?"

She bit her lip for a minute, thinking. "Is there nothing around the house – no shrubbery or anything of that sort?"

"Very little. There's the wrought iron fence I've already mentioned, and we'll have to get inside it to be safe from the various creatures that live in the forest. There are some shrubs right around the house, but they're neither high enough nor dense enough to conceal a man of my size – or a woman of yours, for that matter."

She raised her eyebrows suddenly as a thought occurred. "What if…?" She closed her eyes, concentrated, and transformed into the small brown terrier. When she opened her eyes again, Snape looked huge, along with everything else in the room. She hadn't spent enough time in her Animagus form to become entirely comfortable with the altered proportions. She was approximately the size of one of Snape's boots – a fact that made her a little nervous as she stared at a scuffed black sole. She sat down and cocked her head at him, wishing for some way to brush the hair out of her eyes. She didn't think he looked angry; to the contrary, he seemed amused and frankly surprised. She stood up again – she'd decided that might have been her mistake in her previous landings – and transformed back into her human form, saving herself a world of humiliation by managing to stay on her feet for the first time.

"Well?" she asked.

"Congratulations, Miss Granger," he drawled. "It took you six years, but you've officially succeeded in redefining the words 'teacher's pet'."

"You _know_ what I mean, Professor," she said, exasperated. "You could use the cloak, and I'd be small enough to remain concealed. Even if I were discovered, I could pretend to be a stray."

He snorted. "Any 'stray' of that size would be a snack for one of the forest creatures long before it made it to Finbar's cottage. However, you probably _could_ conceal yourself in that ridiculous form, and you'd be small enough that I could Apparate to the clearing with you in my arms without either of us getting splinched. I don't consider myself a coward, but I wasn't relishing the thought of walking two miles through those woods."

"Then you'll let me go?"

"I wasn't under the impression that I had a choice," he said sarcastically.

"You don't."

"Then yes, I'll let you go. It would be a shame to waste all that Gryffindor foolhardiness."

"Good. I'll get my wand."

"Wait," he said, holding up a hand. "We're not going tonight."

"Why not? There's no time to lose. We should be there already, keeping watch."

"Look outside," he said, pointing out toward the pond, where the last traces of a glorious sunset were reflected in its calm surface. "It's dark, or nearly so. The clearing is a half-mile from the house, and we'd have to walk that distance in the dark. It would be insanity to attempt it."

"I've been in the Forbidden Forest at night before. Harry's done it _several _times," she argued.

"We're of no use to Potter if we're dead," he said firmly. "We'll go at first light tomorrow."

Hermione stamped her foot and made a sound of frustration, causing Snape to raise an eyebrow. 

"Now who's throwing a temper tantrum, Miss Granger? And you wonder why I treat you like a child."

"I am _not _throwing a temper tantrum," she snapped. "I just don't know how you can sit there so calmly, not _doing_ anything. Oh I wish Ron were here! He'd go with me without a second thought."

"Which is precisely why he's dead, and I'm alive," Snape answered coldly.

She recoiled as if she'd been slapped. "That was beneath even you," she said, and then she felt the tears sting her eyes and she walked quickly away from him, out the front door.

_________________________________________________

It was the first time she'd left the house all day, and she gulped the fresh night air, trying to calm herself, trying not to cry. She headed for the pond and settled on the grass near the tranquil water. The sky was nearly dark, but enough light shone from the windows of the house for her to be able to make out her surroundings. She glanced back at the house and smiled through the tears when she saw a staid and proper English country cottage, with narrow windows and a slate roof. 

Dumbledore was certainly a man of imagination.

She hugged her legs to her, propping her chin on her knees. _Where are you, Harry?_ The thought circled her brain repeatedly, irritating her with its utter pointlessness - and because as pointless as it was, there was nothing more constructive that she could be doing. 

She had been outside for perhaps fifteen minutes when she heard the cottage door open and glanced up. Snape approached with a glass of wine in each hand, stopping at the edge of the patio. "Am I interrupting?" 

"No." She reached out and accepted the glass he held out to her, surprised that he had asked and even more surprised that he had come. "Thank you." 

He sat down in one of the chairs on the patio, a few feet away from her. His voice broke the silence, slipping around her and mingling with the gentle night air. "You know that even if we find him, it may be too late."

She felt the tears threatening again. "The antidote…"

"Is a long shot at best. If Pettigrew's blood was the final ingredient needed…well..."

She glared at him. It was easier to be angry. "Did you come out here just to tell me that?"

"No." Just the one word. She looked at him, but he didn't elaborate, and eventually she turned back toward the pond, taking a sip of her wine.

"You were right." The soft words startled her, but she didn't turn around. "What I said was…unconscionable."

She looked at him then and nodded, accepting what for him passed as an apology. "You know, I've been so busy these last few days, I haven't thought about him much. Sometimes I even forget for a while that he's gone. I'll think of something I need to tell him the next time I see him. And then I remember suddenly, and it's like it just happened all over again and I feel guilty for ever letting myself forget."

"You have to let yourself forget, some of the time. You'll never completely forget, of course, but if you're going to keep moving, keep functioning, you have to put the grief away…take it out when it's convenient rather than letting it ambush you."

"You sound as though you speak from experience."

"I do." He wasn't sure why he answered her, but at that moment he felt firmly planted in his chair, seduced into conversation by the peaceful night. There was enough light to see, but the world seemed to be rendered in black and white. It made them seem not quite themselves, and for a few minutes he allowed himself to forget that he was a teacher and she was a student, and that Severus Snape didn't talk about such things to anyone anyway. "My best friend from my own school days died earlier this summer."

"I'm sorry," she said, turning to face him then. "Can I ask…?"

He sighed and leaned his head back, staring up at the stars. "I killed him," he said softly. "He was an evil man, and he'd have killed me if I hadn't gotten off the first curse. He wasn't the boy I'd grown up with anymore…or maybe I'm the one that changed. It doesn't really matter, I suppose. My grief is for the boy, not for the man."

"Mine is for the boy who didn't get to be a man," she said, her voice catching just a little. "I think he'd have made a good one."

"I think you're probably right."

"Do you ever wonder what things would have been like if it hadn't been for Voldemort?" 

"I find such musings to be an exercise in futility," he answered with a sigh.

"That's not exactly a 'no' though, is it?" she observed. "What would you have done? Do you think you'd be teaching now?"

He couldn't be sure if it was the wine, the darkness, or the fact that she was looking away from him, out toward the water, but something inspired his continued honesty. "No. I wouldn't be teaching. I'm at Hogwarts because of my service to Dumbledore in the war against Voldemort and for no other reason."

"What would you have liked to do instead?"

"Research, probably. That's what I had in mind when I apprenticed. Maybe taking on an apprentice of my own at some point. I wouldn't mind teaching someone who had a genuine interest in my subject, but most of your fellow students do not fall into that category."

"No. I suppose they don't." She glanced at him again. "Is that why you teach the way you do?"

He chuckled. "Is that an oblique way of saying I'm cruel and nasty?"

"I could be more direct, if you'd prefer."

"I'm sure you could. To answer your question…my teaching style probably does stem from years of frustration in a job for which I am temperamentally unsuited. However, even in different circumstances, I doubt I'd be..."

"Warm and fuzzy?" she ventured.

"I think not," he said with obvious distaste.

She laughed. "No, I can't see that, somehow."

"What about you? Thanks to your relationship with Potter, your school years have hardly been normal."

"I'm not sure I can answer that until I get a little farther away from it," she answered. "But I think my priorities are different than they would have been otherwise. I think if it hadn't been for Voldemort, I could easily have finished Hogwarts thinking that things like good marks and being Head Girl were all that mattered. I know better now."

"As annoying as you were in those days, I wish you'd been allowed that innocence a while longer," Snape said. 

"You really do have a flair for balancing kindness with insult," she noted, but she was amused rather than perturbed. "But for what it's worth, I agree on both counts."

He smiled, and though she couldn't see it in the darkness she could hear it in his voice. "You've clearly spent too much time with me. You're catching on to my methods."

"Afraid you'll lose your ability to intimidate me?"

"Given your display inside, I think it's obvious that I already have."

"Ah, well. I'm just one of many students, Professor. Soon you'll have a whole new batch of first years to terrify."

"'Tis the only thing that keeps me going," he said lightly.

She giggled and then clapped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry. Forgot how you feel about that."

"Hmm. Perhaps I could relax the rule on giggling, as long as we remain absolutely clear on the need for you to observe silence at the breakfast table."

She laughed again and sipped from her glass. How had he taken her from tears to laughter so quickly? She felt a flash of the same feeling she had experienced when they were bent over the potions books earlier that day, only now they weren't talking about potions or anything related to schoolwork. They were just…talking…and laughing…and even sitting in comfortable silence, helping one another avoid reality for a few quiet minutes. 

She glanced over at him; he was sitting with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. She couldn't make out specific features, just a sharp profile etched against the light of the windows. She saw him raise his glass to his lips, and as he drank he seemed to relax further, leaning his head back against his chair.

"You're staring at me, Miss Granger."

"Yes."

_________________________________________________

She dressed in Muggle clothing the next morning, and then she carefully pulled the front portion of her hair back into an elastic. She wanted to try to focus on the ponytail during her transformation to see if she could incorporate it into her Animagus form. Hair in her eyes drove her wild, and she was likely going to be a dog for most of the day. Her other option – asking Snape to do something about it once she'd transformed – didn't appeal in the slightest. She noted again the charm on the mirror and wondered exactly what it was. It certainly boosted the ego – she looked better than anyone had a right to look first thing in the morning, and she knew it must be magical illusion rather than reality.

She made her way down the stairs, surprised to find that Snape was already up and drinking coffee, though still in his dressing gown. He growled something indistinguishable, and she took it as a warning and passed him silently on her way to the kitchen. She helped herself to fruit and juice and then joined him at the table, unable to resist wishing him a cheerful "good morning." 

Another growl, and he scraped his chair back sharply and left to refill his coffee cup.

He had regained the capacity for speech by the time he returned and got right down to business. "Are you ready for this?"

"Absolutely. I still wish we'd gone last night."

"You might feel differently once you've walked through the forest. I'm going to try to Apparate a little closer to the property today and hope we don't wind up in a tree. We'll still have to walk some little distance, however. Be sure you tuck your wand in your sleeve before you transform. You might need to access it in a hurry."

"I thought of that already," she said, indicating her long-sleeved shirt. "I wonder if Professor Dumbledore heard anything from the Ministry about me using my wand yesterday to heal your leg."

"Hang the Ministry. If you need your wand today, you're to use it without a second thought."

She nodded. "Are you going to eat breakfast?"

"Yes, and then we'll need to pack some food to take with us." He reached for his wand and summoned their morning meal from Hogwarts, helping himself to a large serving. "Eat something. It may be a while before you get the chance again."

She fixed a plate obediently but picked at the food, feeling anxious to get on with their day. "Professor?"

"Hmm?"

"What's the charm on the mirrors here? I don't recognize it."

Snape rolled his eyes. "It's one of Albus's own creations. The mirrors show you your reflection as those around you see you, rather than as you see yourself. The Headmaster seems to think that's useful information. I can't for the life of me imagine why."

Hermione was too surprised by his answer to think to ask what _he_ saw when he looked in the mirror.

_________________________________________________

Snape finished his breakfast and left Hermione to pack them some food while he readied himself for the day. He dressed in close-fitting Muggle clothing that would allow freedom of motion and wouldn't bunch up under the invisibility cloak and then tucked his wand into a pocket hidden in the seam of his jeans. In the bathroom, he performed his brief morning toilette, and it wasn't until he went to pull his own hair back out of his face that he realized his reflection had changed. He might not have noticed it at all had the girl not mentioned the mirrors at the table just a few minutes before. When he had been at the cottage the first time in the presence of his colleagues, his reflection had looked much as it did in his own mirror back in his rooms at Hogwarts. He remembered Dumbledore and Flitwick discussing the charm, but it hadn't particularly impressed him at the time. 

He had been surprised, then, his first day here with the Granger girl, to note that his reflection was more menacing than normal, his appearance more intimidating. There was a hint of cruelty around the eyes and harsh scowl lines around his mouth. Apparently the mirror charm worked after all, and he found he rather liked it. He cared little for his personal appearance anyway, and he enjoyed knowing that he still had the power to frighten Hogwarts' Head Girl.

Today, however, he found that the touches of menace had disappeared and been replaced by a look of…good humour? 

Surely not.

He leaned in to examine his face more closely. He looked pleasant, damn it, and almost happy. 

The girl saw him like _that_? After one conversation over a glass of wine? Clearly damage control was in order, but he didn't have time to deal with it just then. He averted his gaze from the mirror as he pulled his hair back and secured it at the nape of his neck. The day was going to be trying enough without worrying about whether Hermione Granger had been deluded into thinking he was _kind_.

He found her waiting in the solarium, her knapsack in one hand and the invisibility cloak in the other. 

"Wand?" he asked.

"Right here." She handed him the knapsack and cloak and slid her wand into her sleeve. "Are we ready?"

"Go ahead." 

He watched as she focussed her attention on her transformation. Obviously it hadn't become effortless yet, as it was for long-time Animagi like McGonagall. It went as smoothly as it had the evening before, however, and seconds later he was looking down at a miniature terrier with – oh, how _revolting_ – a small ponytail in her hair. It – she – looked up at him with all the bright-eyed cheerfulness that so annoyed him at the breakfast table. It annoyed him even more coming from a small brown dust mop.

He stuffed the invisibility cloak in the knapsack and reached down to pick her up. He paused halfway there in a rare moment of indecision. This was a student, after all, and given her current size and the size of his hands, he'd be pretty much touching her…well, _everywhere_. He'd hated Transfiguration classes and had done his best to forget what he'd ever known about the Animagus transformation. He had no idea what it would feel like for Hermione, but for him it felt damned awkward. She wasn't any bigger than a cat…maybe he could pick her up by the scruff of the neck?

Something told him she wouldn't go for that.

She whined a little, giving him a curious look.

Bloody hell. He reached for her again and wrapped his thumb and two fingers of each hand around her tiny ribcage, just under the armpits – or what would have been armpits if she'd had arms. He had no idea what dogs called that particular part of their anatomy and didn't care. He held her as far away from his body as he possibly could, her hind legs twisting in midair. 

"Grrrrrrrrr."

Apparently she didn't care for that either. 

He winced a little as he pulled her closer, finally tucking her securely in the crook of one arm. He was grateful that the windows in the solarium prevented the hanging of any mirrors. He had no desire to see himself cuddling a little froufrou scrap of a dog and, thanks to Dumbledore's idea of a useful charm, looking _happy_ about it. He had been happier being chased by the Graphorn.

With a sigh of disgust, he picked up the knapsack and Disapparated.

_________________________________________________

They managed to avoid landing in a tree, and even in her canine form, Hermione enjoyed her first experience with Apparition and fully appreciated for the first time how trying it must have been for Snape to have to use the Floo while travelling with her. Apparition was instantaneous and carried none of the unpleasant side effects of Portkeys and the Floo network. She couldn't wait to get her license.

He put her down as soon as they landed, and she trotted alongside him as he strode through the woods toward Finbar's house. In case of danger, she would be able to transform and have her wand out in an instant, but as long as it wasn't necessary, she wanted to take the time to get used to her Animagus form. She was delighted with the results of the ponytail. With the hair out of her eyes, her vision was clear for the first time - though seeing the world in black and white took a bit of getting used to. She glanced up at Snape, clad in black jeans and a black shirt, and realized that he looked precisely the same in black and white as he did in colour. 

What an odd thought.

Within minutes, she was exhausted by the effort of keeping up with his much longer legs, and finally let out a sharp bark, glaring at him as best she could from her inferior vantage point. He seemed to get the message and slowed down slightly, but as she caught up to his legs she sniffed at him a little, catching an unfamiliar scent.

Fear.

Snape was _afraid_. She knew it with the same degree of conviction that she knew her own name. It was then that she realized for the first time that part of the beauty of the Animagus transformation was that a human brain was able to fully coexist with an animal brain. Heretofore, she had only considered the advantages of being able to travel _incognito_. Now she realized that she had not only the body of a dog but the senses and the instinct of one too. Hermione Granger would never have been able to smell fear, and even if she had, she wouldn't have been able to identify the scent. But in her Animagus form, the canine part of her brain had a heightened sensitivity to Snape's emotions, and the human part didn't like the fact that he was afraid one little bit. 

She turned her heightened senses to the forest surrounding them, hoping that she would be able to forewarn him of any approaching threat. She was eye level with a group of pixies, but a growl seemed sufficient to warn them off. She caught sight of quite a few gnomes and once thought she saw a Leprechaun, but she saw nothing very frightening. Apparently Snape had been having a particularly bad run of luck the previous day, and when she got a sudden mental image of him falling out of a tree, she was inclined to giggle, had her larynx been capable of performing such an act. The impulse soon passed, and then they were approaching a clearing. From the edge of the wood she caught sight of the wrought iron fence he had described. 

He skirted around to the side of the house, where there was only one small window and presumably the least chance of being seen, and then he emerged from the trees with her close at his heels and began countering the wards he had discovered the previous day. It went much more quickly now that he knew which ones they were and he wasn't having to perform complicated testing charms, and within ten minutes he seemed satisfied that it was safe to climb the fence. 

He glanced down at her thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I think there's only one safe way to do this," he said in a hushed voice. He reached for her, again lifting her just behind her front legs, and she felt slightly panicked as her feet lost contact with the earth. He didn't dangle her in mid-air again, thank goodness, but instead opened the flap of the knapsack and withdrew the invisibility cloak before tucking her inside the bag. 

She was at first distracted by the overpowering smell of the food she had packed – which hadn't smelled nearly as tempting when she had packed it. The food was quickly forgotten, however, in her discomfort at being squashed into the dark canvas bag and slung over his shoulder. She could feel his back through the knapsack and pressed closer to him, finding security in the solid wall of warmth. She lurched and swayed – she guessed he was climbing the fence - and then came the sense of falling, and she jostled painfully against his shoulder blade as he landed on the ground.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I'm going to leave you in there until we get to the shrubbery."

More gentle swaying as he walked toward the house. She heard the rasp of branches as he insinuated himself into the bushes, and then he pulled the bag from his shoulder and opened the flap to release her. She jumped out of the bag and shook herself from head to toe. He was crouched down, and a glance told her that the shimmering folds of the invisibility cloak covered them both. 

"I'll take the back door," he said, his voice barely audible, even to her sensitive ears. "You go around front. Stay close to the house, well in the shrubbery, and there should be no danger of you being seen."

She nodded and then looked to him for confirmation of which way to go. The ride in the knapsack had been disorienting, to say the least.

"It's that way," he whispered, pointing. "You know, it occurs to me that I rather prefer you this way. You can't argue or ask annoying questions."

In a flash, she nipped at his hand with sharp teeth, causing him to snatch his fingers away with a whispered curse. "Remind me to take points for that once term begins."

She dropped to her belly and cautiously emerged from the shelter of the invisibility cloak, staying close to the house, as he had advised. She glanced back and saw the slight swaying of the bushes as he made his way toward the back of the house, and then she stood up – really there was little difference between standing and lying down – and walked the rest of the way to the front corner.

Two hours later, she had decided that being a dog – and a spy – was a terribly dull business. She would have given anything for a book to read, a paper to write…something to pass the time. She devoted a few minutes to practicing dog behaviour – turning in circles, scratching behind one ear – but really, that was easily mastered and very close to instinctive in her present form. She had quickly gotten used to the black and white vision and to the altered proportions of everything and felt that if only she could have held a book in her front paws, she'd have been content to remain in her Animagus form for days on end.

Until a new consideration began to make itself known. 

She'd had several glasses of pumpkin juice at breakfast, and she was beginning to need to do something about it. She didn't know why the idea of relieving herself in the manner of dogs everywhere was uncomfortable; she seemed to have acclimated to other aspects of being a dog with very little trouble. She remembered a long-ago camping trip with some friends, however. She had been shocked to realize that "camping" meant doing without a loo, and her friends had laughed and teased her until finally she had given in and found a secluded place in which to squat.

That had been the trip when she had learned of her violent allergy to poison ivy. 

Perhaps that memory was interfering with her canine instincts now, but whatever the reason, she fought the urge as long as she could. Finally, she couldn't fight it anymore, and she gave herself over to the contemplation of logistics. She was happy with her current vantage point from the corner, so she certainly didn't want to use it as a loo. She decided she'd move farther around to the front of the house, which had the duel advantage of taking her a few yards away from her corner and being thoroughly out of Snape's line of vision. 

She went as far as the front steps and found a spot close to the house but still completely hidden by the bushes – and with no poison ivy anywhere in sight. Having made up her mind that the thing had to be done, her canine instinct took over and it was done quickly, bringing a great deal of relief. Afterwards there was a certain _damp_ feeling to her fur, but she shook herself and tried to put it out of her mind. 

She was on her way back to her corner when she noticed several small ventilation grates along the foundation of the house. They were old and rusted, and as she stopped to examine one more closely, she realized that it had nearly rusted out. She pressed against it with a paw and felt it give a little, and she quickly withdrew her paw lest she knock it out completely and make a noise that would give her away. She was about to move on when her sensitive nose caught a whiff of…something. She paused and pressed her nose between the metal bars. She smelt a mixture of food…and waste…and _human_! The dog portion of her brain would have been sure even if she hadn't been in such close proximity to Snape that morning, but having experienced Snape's scent, she knew that what she was smelling was a person somewhere in the basement of that house. 

She made her way back along the side of the house in search of Snape. She caught his scent near the corner opposite hers, and knew that he was close. She got perhaps six feet closer before his arm snaked out of the invisibility cloak and swept her underneath it. 

She transformed immediately and landed practically in his lap, their limbs tangled awkwardly in the close confines of the cloak.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I haven't quite mastered that yet."

"Obviously," he replied, moving to put still more space between them. "What happened? Why are you here?"

"I went around the front of the house and found a loose grate leading down into the basement. There's someone down there, Professor. It has to be Harry!"

"How do you know?"

"I could…uh…I could smell him," she said. "In my Animagus form. I could smell a person down there."

"It could just be Finbar's scent. Perhaps he stores things in the basement."

"No." She shook her head, certain. "It's more than that. I could smell, well, food and things. Like someone's actually living down there. Not like someone just passed through. I don't know how to explain it exactly."

He nodded. "I believe you. How big is the grate?" 

"Big enough for me to get through in my Animagus form. I'll need you to remove the grate magically though. It's nearly rusted out and could be knocked out fairly easily, I think, but it would make some noise."

His face had hardened as she spoke, and she knew when he opened his mouth what he was going to say.

"Professor, if you say one word about this being too dangerous for delicate Miss Granger, I swear I'll scream! I think Harry is down there, and I'm going to find out, and then I'm going to get him out if it's the last thing I do. I will not do anything foolish or careless, but I _will_ go down there."

"Just going down there qualifies as foolish and careless," he snapped, as best as he _could_ snap in a whisper. "However, as it seems to be our only option at the moment, I'll not stop you from having a look. But if you confirm that Potter is there, do not – do _not _– attempt to get him out by yourself. Come and get me, and I'll go in and neutralize Finbar."

"Neutralize?"

"Welcome to the grown-up table, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded and changed back into a dog, slipping ahead of Snape as she made her way to the front of the house. She heard his approach behind her and indicated the grate with her paw. His wand appeared in midair and she heard a whispered spell before the bars melted away. The wand disappeared again and then he picked her up, leaning through the grate as far as his arm would reach before releasing her. 

She still fell farther than was comfortable, landing with a soft "oomph" as a jolt of pain ran through her legs. She stood up and tested everything to make sure nothing was broken, and it was then that she realized that getting back out of the grate without assistance would be no small task. She filed that away as a problem for later. 

She began exploring, thankful for the dim light that filtered through the series of grates. She was on an uneven earth floor and could see piles of debris scattered here and there. She ignored these for the moment; they could prove interesting later, but just then she wanted to find Harry. She put her nose to the ground and tried to sort out the various smells, wishing that she'd been a bloodhound instead of a terrier. She picked up a human scent to the right of where Snape had dropped her through the grate, and she followed it, becoming more excited as the smell grew stronger, only to come to a complete dead-end at a stone wall.

She sat back on her haunches and looked at the wall. It appeared to be perfectly solid, but she'd spent the last twenty-four hours in a cottage in which nothing was as it appeared to be, and at that moment she trusted her nose more than her eyes. Her nose was telling her that someone was behind that wall. 

She transformed back into human form and slid her wand from her sleeve. 

"_Alohomora_."

Well, of course, that had been a long shot.

Remembering Dumbledore's windowpanes, she began pressing the wall in various places, but the number of possible combinations was infinite, and she quickly became discouraged. 

She went back to the grate, which now was nearly at eye level. "Professor?" she hissed.

"What is it?"

"I think there's a door hidden somewhere in the stone wall that makes up the foundation of the house. There's probably a password of some sort. I thought of destroying the wall, but that could bring the whole house down on our heads. Do you have any suggestions?"

"When he was Head of Slytherin, he used to prefer passwords that were to do with snakes. Try some of those, and in the meantime I'll see if I can think of a spell that might work. He'll have thought of the most obvious ones, of course, and guarded against them."

"That's what I thought too. OK, I'm off to name some snakes."

She made her way back to the wall, trying to remember the exact spot she had identified when she had been in her canine form. She could smell nothing but damp rot now, but she commenced talking to the portion of wall that seemed most familiar.

"Cobra? Runespoor? Ashwinder? Python? Basilisk?" Really this felt a little silly. Not to mention fruitless. She kept going, naming every snake she could think of and then moving on to words _about_ snakes. "Venom…coils…eggs…"

"Miss Granger."

__

Please let him have a plan, she thought, making her way back to the small hole. 

"I have something for you to try. It's classified as Dark Magic though I'm not entirely sure why. I suppose it's because Dark wizards used to use it to enter prisons and free their friends – it's one reason the Dementors were brought in to guard Azkaban."

"You know how I love history, Professor, but perhaps this lesson could wait until another time," she said testily.

"Just listen," he hissed. "It's important that you get this right if you're going to try it at all. You'll want to circle your wand counter-clockwise three times as you repeat the incantation. _'espasé meno.'"_

"_Espasé meno._" She repeated it back to him and then went back to the wall, still repeating the incantation to herself to ensure that she remembered it. She raised her wand and pointed it at the wall before slowly moving it counter clockwise as he had told her to do. She repeated the incantation three times, once for every rotation of her wand, and then felt the earth floor start to vibrate as the stones just to the right of where she was standing rearranged themselves into a doorway, clattering a bit as they knocked against one another. She tensed at the noise and listened carefully for the sound of footsteps overhead.

Hearing nothing, she lit her wand and started down the steep stone staircase that was revealed. It got progressively colder and damper as she proceeded deeper into the earth, and the blackness was so profound that the light of her wand penetrated only slightly. She took each step carefully despite her eagerness. She was perhaps halfway down when the smell of the place assaulted her nostrils, and she fought the urge to gag, putting one hand over her mouth and nose.

When she finally reached the bottom, she cast her light around the room and cried out when she saw the figure on the bed. "Harry!" she exclaimed, but then she checked herself. Was it Harry?

His back was to her, and though he was approximately the right size and shape, she could make out short blonde hair…and was that an _earring_?

She held her wand right up to his face, which was grimy and shadowed with dark stubble. It _was_ Harry, she realized with relief, and she reached and touched his cheek. It was clammy but warm enough to convince her that he lived. "Harry?" She shook his shoulder, concerned that he wasn't waking up. "Harry you've got to wake up! It's Hermione. I've come to get you out of here." 

He stirred slightly but didn't open his eyes. She cast her wand around his prison and saw the remnants of food and human filth. She gagged, feeling the bile rise in her throat and fighting the urge to empty her stomach right there on the ground. 

She didn't care what Snape had said. She had to get Harry out of there, and she had to do it right then. She raised her wand and cast _Mobilicorpus_, causing Harry to rise off the bed and dangle in midair. She directed him toward the stairway.

"Oops. Sorry!" she whispered, wincing as his head bumped the wall. She righted him just a little and proceeded up the steep passage. She had made it only four steps when a dark shadow appeared in the faint haze at the top. 

"Well, well. What have we here?" a soft voice said. "It appears that someone is trying to make off with what is rightfully mine."

"He's not yours!" she exclaimed. "How dare you?"

Descending steps, and Finbar chuckled as he came into view. "Such _bravery_ my dear – and so misplaced under the circumstances. I'm guessing you must be a Gryffindor. You're such a foolish lot. Now turn around and take young Harry back down to his bed. He's in no condition to be moved."

"What have you done to him?" she demanded. "Why won't he wake up?"

"He'll wake up in due time, don't you worry. He's of no use to me dead," the man said pleasantly. Then his voice hardened and he extended his wand, adding, "Now get back down those stairs."

Hermione obeyed, but in the effort of backing down, she lost her concentration and let Harry fall down the steps. "Harry!" She rushed down to check on him and was relieved when he sat up groggily and rubbed his head. "Harry, are you OK?"

""Mione?" he mumbled, confused. 

"Yes, Harry. I'm here," she said, putting her arms around him and glaring at Finbar, who was now looming over them. 

"Hermione, is it?" he asked pleasantly. "I've heard of you. You're Harry's little Mudblood friend. That's fine, then. I know exactly what to do with pretty little Mudbloods who meddle in things that don't concern them."

Hermione stiffened, but Harry seemed to drift back off on her shoulder. Apparently this wasn't going to be a team effort. She lowered him to the ground, at the same time trying to slip her wand back into her sleeve, hoping Finbar wouldn't be able to disarm her.

She sat back, looking at the man who held them captive. He was neat and well groomed, with close-cropped salt and pepper hair. She knew he must be older than Snape, but he didn't look it – at least not by much. He was wearing robes which disguised his form, but he was several inches shorter and appeared to be powerfully built. She would not overpower him without magic, that was for certain, and she didn't much like her chances _with _magic either – especially without Harry's help. 

He had come on them so silently that she had little hope Snape had heard, but little hope was better than no hope at all, and she clung to it, silently imploring him to come to their rescue.

She held tight to Harry's limp form, watching warily as Finbar circled them, wand out. He laughed again, a sinister sound in the gloom, and said, "I'll be taking that, my dear. _Expelliarmus_." Her wand flew from her sleeve, and he caught it neatly, tucking it into his robes.

It occurred to her again that she made a very bad spy.

"Now, I can guess at what you're doing here, but I want to know how you managed to find us. You have a reputation as a bright girl, but it strains credulity to think that you tracked Harry here all by yourself. Who is helping you?"

"No one," she said, the lie coming easily. "I am, as you say, a bright girl."

He tsked and shook his head regretfully. "Lies will be punished, little Mudblood. _Crucio_."

She shrieked as every cell of her body exploded in pain. She fell beside Harry, the fiery agony ripping through her, making any thought beyond the desire for death impossible. Under any other circumstances, she would have been unconscious, but the curse didn't allow that relief. It ended as suddenly as it had begun, and she was left trembling and gasping on the ground, the dank, fetid chamber ringing with silence as her screams subsided.

"Now, I'll ask you again," Finbar said calmly, as if nothing had happened. "How, exactly, did you find us?"

She clenched her jaw and shook her head. 

He advanced on her, pleasant no longer. "I have an ample store of Veritaserum upstairs, brave little Gryffindor. It would be a simple thing to get the truth. But I think this way is more interesting, don't you?" He brandished his wand. "You've had a taste of the Cruciatus curse, but I assure you that's not the only tool in my arsenal. I'll have you begging for Cruciatus by the time I'm finished with you, and the end result will certainly be the same. So do save us both the trouble, and tell me how you found us, and who else knows about it."

"I told you," she managed. "I came here by myself."

He sighed. "_Crucio_." 

The pain seared through her again, but this time it stopped abruptly, and she was aware of twin beams of green light streaking through the dark cavern. She saw Finbar fall to the ground, and she struggled to sit up, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Harry was sitting up a few feet away from her, his eyes focussed and blazing, and in her peripheral vision she saw Snape shrugging off the invisibility cloak and advancing on them, wand out. 

"Thank you," she managed.

"I should curse you myself for being stupid enough to come down here alone," he ground out, his normally smooth voice shaking slightly. "It took me ten minutes to find the passage down here once I'd realized what you'd done. Potter, are you all right?"

Harry looked at Snape in confusion, his eyes sliding back out of focus, and didn't answer. Snape held his lit wand up to Harry's face and examined his pupils carefully before turning back to Hermione. "I need to find out what he's been taking, but let's get you out of this infernal hole first."

"I'm not…I'm not sure I can walk," Hermione admitted in a small voice.

"You probably can't," he said. "I'll help you."

She had expected him to use magic, but instead he reached down and picked her up, struggling a little with the effort to stand, but managing to carry her up the steps and through the basement to a second set of stairs. They emerged on the first floor of the house, and he lowered her gently to an ancient sofa. 

"You left Harry…"

"He's not going anywhere in the condition he's in, and Finbar can't hurt him now. I want to get you back to the cottage before I bring him up." 

"But why? I want to see him." Her voice sounded vague to her own ears, and she wondered if she was even making sense.

Snape squatted down in front of the sofa, lowering himself to her eye level. "He's been given…something," he said, his voice gentle. "I don't know what. Until I do, you can't be alone with him."

She had no answer to that. Her brain simply wouldn't formulate one – couldn't wrestle its way through the pain and the confusion to consider the ramifications if Harry had already been dosed with the potion. She stared at Snape stupidly. 

"I need to know if you think you can transform." 

His tone was closer to his classroom voice, and she responded to it with a mental rally, considering his question before nodding her head. "I think so."

"Good. I'll take you to the cottage and come back here for Potter. But first…" He drew his wand and quickly countered the disapparition shield. "All right. Give it a try."

She closed her eyes and focussed every thought on her transformation, and when she opened them again, the world was once again black and white and this time viewed through the mop of brown hair. She'd forgotten the ponytail and couldn't have cared less. Her canine body was in as much pain as her human body had been, and she struggled to stand on the sofa. Snape reached for her, picking her up gently this time, taking care not to dangle her in midair, and she let her eyes drift shut as he tucked her safely in the crook of his arm. Seconds later they were inside Dumbledore's sunny cottage. He put her down in the large rocking chair and she transformed again, drawing her knees to her chest and curling up in the foetal position with a sigh.

"Do you need anything before I leave again?" he asked. "I don't want to leave Potter alone for long."

"I'm fine," she said, closing her eyes. "Just get Harry – and be careful."

Despite her worry over Harry, she drifted off to sleep, her body simply too exhausted to do anything else.

_________________________________________________

Snape Apparated back to Finbar's house, and despite the fact that he'd spent no more than a minute transporting Hermione to the cottage, he felt a flash of panic that something might have happened – that somehow, Potter might have disappeared again. He hurried back downstairs to the putrid chamber in which Potter had been imprisoned, thrusting his lit wand out before him. At the foot of the stairs, his former Potions Master stared up at him in empty condemnation, but he spared the dead man only a quick glance on his way to Potter, who was once again sleeping, slumped against the wall. He lifted the boy's eyelids again and checked to see that the pupils reacted to the light. They did, but Potter didn't awaken. 

He then cast his wand around the small room. It appeared that Finbar had been bringing trays of food regularly, but Potter hadn't eaten much of what had been offered, and nothing had been cleared away. He saw several potions bottles and gathered them up, carrying them with him into the main portions of the house and then going back for Potter, casting _Mobilicorpus_ and guiding the unconscious boy up to the same sofa he'd placed Hermione on a few minutes before. 

He found the laboratory on the second floor and was slightly unnerved by how familiar it seemed. He had adopted Finbar's private laboratory as a seventeen-year-old schoolboy, and it was there, apparently, that he had developed his own feel for how a lab should be organized, without ever consciously realizing it. Now the room seemed like a connection between them – a reminder of how little, really, separated Neilus Finbar and Severus Snape.

He shook off the creeping feeling with irritation. He had no time to indulge in such foolishness, and at that moment the similarities between their labs worked to his advantage. He moved quickly, checking Finbar's stores and examining the work area carefully for signs that the potion he had conceived so many years ago had been completed.

He found none. 

Circumstantial evidence, of course, but it was enough to make him sag against the workbench with relief, feeling absolved of some portion of his own guilt in this affair. He turned his attention to the bottles he had brought upstairs, sniffing the residue in the bottom. One was clearly a sleeping draught, while the other two appeared to be simple depressants. It took perhaps ten minutes in the lab to confirm his initial theories. The bastard had been priming Potter for the potion, keeping him confined in that filthy hole while giving him low dosage depressants to exacerbate his dependency on his captor. By the time the potion had been completed, Potter would have had a heightened susceptibility to its effects, and it probably would have only taken a few doses to leech out the boy's conscience, rendering him as dangerous as Voldemort had ever been. Even while repulsed at what the man had been trying to do, Snape felt a detached and clinical admiration for Finbar's methods. He had long since accepted that his professional interest in potions crossed the lines of social, even ethical acceptability, and he didn't let it bother him now.

He set the bottles aside. Time to wake up Potter. 

He searched Finbar's stores until he found a stimulant and then went back downstairs and dribbled it into Potter's mouth until the boy woke, blinking against the sunlight blaring through the dingy windows. He looked dreadful - filthy and dazed, with that naked, vulnerable look that afflicts people who are usually seen wearing glasses. The several-days growth of dark beard contrasted with the ridiculous blond hair, which was greasy from the days in the clammy dungeon. He had gotten an earring as part of his disguise, and Snape noted that the fresh piercing was red and inflamed. 

"Professor?" 

"Yes, Potter. I'm sure I'm just who you were hoping to see," Snape answered sarcastically. "How do you feel?"

Harry continued to stare at Snape, blinking myopically, but he didn't answer. 

"I'm going to have another look around – see if I can find your wand and your glasses – and then I'm going to try to get you out of here. I saw a broom upstairs. Do you think you can hang on for two miles?"

Again, no response from Harry.

If civility wasn't getting through, perhaps it was time to try something else - something more familiar. "Well, you'd damn well better hang on," Snape snapped. "I'm counting on the Potter instinct kicking in. If you bring me down in the middle of that forest, I'll make you wish you were back in the cellar."

At that, Harry gave a small nod of understanding before slumping back against the sofa and closing his eyes. 

_________________________________________________

It was an uncomfortable flight, and slow, with two grown men sharing an outdated broom, but it passed without incident and the dangers of the forest remained far below. The Potter instinct _did_ actually seem to kick in - or perhaps it was the fresh air after days of deprivation - and Harry seemed more alert and in control on the broom than he had in the house, managing to keep his seat without leaning on Snape and interfering with the steering. They landed awkwardly by the pond, and Snape led Harry stumbling through the door of the cottage.

If Harry saw anything at all interesting about the cottage's interior, he gave no sign of it, maintaining the blank look he'd worn ever since Snape had awakened him. Snape cast a glance in Hermione's direction, but she was still asleep in the chair, curled up in a position that spoke of unconscious self-protection.

"There's a room for you upstairs," Snape said, keeping his voice deliberately low so as not to wake the sleeping girl. He put pressure between Harry's shoulder blades to guide him toward the staircase. 

He led Harry to the bedroom next to Hermione's and performed a cleaning spell and a shaving spell to rid him of the surface layer of accumulated grime. A shower would have felt better, no doubt, but Harry didn't seem capable of addressing his own hygiene needs just then, and there were definite limits to the amount of assistance Snape was willing to offer. He did help the boy out of his shirt, examining his torso for any signs of injury or abuse and finding none. From Finbar's stores, he had taken an antimicrobial potion (one that _didn't _sting) and a sleeping draught, and he swiped Harry's infected ear with the former and pushed him toward the bed before dosing him with the latter. He hated to drug the boy again, but he had work to do back at Finbar's house, and he couldn't risk having Harry wake up while he was gone. He was almost certain that Harry hadn't been given the potion, but not quite certain enough to leave him alone and conscious in the cottage with Hermione. Some more time in Finbar's lab should provide him with the confirmation he needed on that score.

The draught worked instantly, and Harry's eyes slid out of focus and then drifted shut. Snape looked down at the sleeping boy…his godson. 

Where had that thought come from? 

He had always looked an unlikely hero to Snape, but he looked even _less _likely now. The saviour of the wizarding world had been frozen by the sleeping potion in what appeared to be an uncomfortable sprawl, his ribs jutting out prominently against his flesh and his trousers loose around his slim hips. Too thin, Snape noted, even before he'd gone several days with little food. His mouth hung open slightly and his breath came in deep shuddering gusts, like a child who had cried himself to sleep. He looked younger than his 17 years and completely defenceless, and yet somehow, he'd managed to do it again. 

__

The Boy Who Lived. 

Indeed.

Snape reached for the duvet and pulled it up over the sleeping hero, and then he quietly left the room.

_________________________________________________

Hermione was awakened by a hand on her shoulder, and she started violently in spite of the gentleness of his touch. 

"Sorry," he said, and she nodded, taking a deep breath to get control of her nerves. He spoke again. "Come. I've gotten Potter tucked in. Now it's your turn."

"_Harry_. Is he…?"

"I think he's going to be fine," Snape said, placing just enough emphasis on the word _think_ to make her understand that there were no guarantees.

She seemed to understand, and her eyes closed for a moment in relief before she made the effort to unfold herself from the chair. She was able to walk again with his assistance, and he guided her up the stairs and into her bed. "I've given Potter a sleeping draught. You don't need to worry about him wandering off. Do you want to take something too?"

"No. I don't think I'm capable of doing anything _but_ sleeping," she said through a yawn.

"Fine then. Get some rest. I'm going to owl Dumbledore, and after that I'll be in and out this afternoon but will be here for supper. I'll check on you then."

She nodded and let her eyes drift shut. She didn't open them again for hours.

_________________________________________________

She was stiff and sore when she awoke from her nap, but she was able to get up and around without help. She went to the loo and then realized that she was thirsty, so she made her way slowly down the winding stairs and into the darkened solarium. She had slept the afternoon away.

"Go lie down," Snape growled, looking up from the book he hadn't been reading. "You're in no condition to be up."

"I'm fine," she insisted, "I need to…I need to…" She glanced around. She couldn't remember why she'd come downstairs. She could still feel the aftershocks of the curse sparking through her, tripping one nerve ending after another, and her mind was consumed with her concern for Harry. 

Tea. She had been going to make tea. She headed for the kitchen, but her legs didn't want to cooperate and she faltered, grabbing for the back of a chair to steady herself. She was trembling and ashamed of the fact that she was trembling and wished very much that Snape would just go back to his book and leave her to collapse on the floor in peace.

He crossed the room in long, impatient strides. "Foolish girl," he snapped, catching her, steadying her, and then reaching down and picking her up in strong arms for the second time that day. He carried her to the huge rocking chair, and instead of dropping her unceremoniously into its depths, as she had expected, he lowered himself into the chair and settled her in his lap. "Foolish girl," he repeated, but softly this time, pressing her head into his shoulder and smoothing his hand over her tangle of curls.

She felt the trembling lessen as he began to rock slowly back and forth, continuing to stroke her hair. She relaxed into the soft cotton of his shirt and inhaled the masculine scent that had become a familiar part of her landscape over the last difficult days. It was the most unlikely of positions, and yet she was comfortable. Her muscles unclenched and she drifted off to sleep, lulled by the thudding heart beneath her cheek. 

_________________________________________________

Snape didn't sleep, but he let his own eyes fall shut as he felt the girl in his arms relax and drift off. The only sounds were the slight creaking of the chair's rails and her steady breathing, which whispered across his chest in time with his own. He knew there was much to be done, much to be considered - not the least of which was why he was holding Hogwarts' Head Girl in his arms while she slept - but he stubbornly refused to think about any of it at that moment. He hadn't felt this peaceful in…well, he wasn't sure he could remember a time. The girl was sleeping – getting much-needed rest. Potter was alive and appeared physically unharmed, and for the moment, at least, there was no darkness looming over him. After the day he'd had, what was it hurting if Snape found a few moments of peace in the silent cottage with Hermione Granger in his arms? Who would even know?

He opened his eyes at the sound of a gently cleared throat. Dumbledore. Of course. He instinctively tightened his hold on Hermione as if Dumbledore might wrest her away. It was not, he realized, entirely out of the question.

"Headmaster," he said, keeping his voice to a near whisper.

Dumbledore took the hint. "Severus," he replied, his voice just as low. "How is she?"

"Exhausted and still in pain. Cruciatus."

The Headmaster winced and shook his head. "I had hoped to leave you all here until we see how Harry is, but perhaps we should get her to Poppy."

Hermione lifted her head and looked at the Headmaster with tired eyes. "No, sir," she said. "I want to stay here, if that's all right."

Dumbledore nodded and gave her a sad smile. "It's fine, my dear. I'll have Madam Pomfrey prepare a potion that should help with any lingering effects. Severus is perfectly capable of administering it." He paused and then went on. "I'll need to hear the whole story, of course. There will be an enquiry."

Snape sighed. "You'll get the whole story, Albus, but not tonight, if you please. We'll be able to report more coherently once we've had a little rest."

"Tomorrow then," Dumbledore said. "I'll join you for lunch. I've reopened the Floo, and you can contact me that way if you need me in the interval."

"Fine." It occurred to him then that he really _shouldn't _be holding the girl, and he shifted and began to unseat her.

"No," Dumbledore said gently. "Stay as you are. Miss Granger looks far too comfortable to be moved. Until tomorrow, children." He was gone before they had a chance to say goodbye.

Hermione's head sank back into Snape's shirtfront. "I should get up," she mumbled. "You must be uncomfortable."

"Not at all. I've long since lost all feeling in my legs," he teased.

She chuckled, and he marvelled at the fact that he felt the gentle vibrations of her laughter before his ears even registered the sound. She didn't move, and he didn't encourage her to do so. Instead his hand went hesitantly back to her hair, since that had seemed to relax her before, and he slowly raked long fingers through the curly strands until her breathing became regular again, and he felt her relax into sleep.


	18. The Man Behind the Mask

Hermione woke in her own bed the following morning, coming to awareness in stages. The first thing she noticed was the lingering soreness in her muscles – an after-effect of the curse. That triggered the memories of the previous day and her consuming worry for Harry. She remembered Snape holding her in the rocking chair and Dumbledore's visit, but the memories were hazy, softened by fatigue and pain so that they had taken on a dreamlike quality. She supposed he must have carried her to her bed. 

Snape. Carried her to bed. 

That should have seemed more disturbing than it actually did. She knew she should feel embarrassed about falling asleep in his lap, about feeling so content in his arms, but she didn't. Somehow, he had known that she needed physical comfort just then, needed the reassurance of strong arms and a steadily beating heart. She considered for a moment just _how_ he had known, but her mind shied away from the contemplation of Severus Snape in the aftermath of Cruciatus, alone in his dungeon. 

It was easier to consider her own situation, which was odd, but not uncomfortably so. She would have to face him over breakfast, just as she had in the previous days, but she felt no awkwardness about it. Instead, she was, well…actually looking forward to seeing him. A bit, anyway. There was certainly no hint of the dread she had always felt as a student when forced into close contact with Severus Snape. The man she had gotten to know in the last few days bore little resemblance anymore to her feared Potions master, and yet, she still couldn't really presume to know him. She had made it past his initial defences and caught glimpses of the man behind the cold mask. There was warmth there, and humour and bravery and honour…she was sure of that. But he was still the man who had lived a decade in the Hogwarts dungeon without leaving the faintest imprint on his rooms. She didn't really know that man, and she wondered if there was anyone who did.

She rose stiffly and went to her suitcase, exchanging her slept-in clothing for clean jeans and a shirt and then pulling the tangled mess of hair back into a clip. She didn't bother with anything more; she was too anxious to see how Harry was doing. 

Peeking into the room next to hers, she saw that Harry was still sleeping and approached the bed, standing there quietly for a few moments. She nearly reached out to touch him, to add the reassurance of his warm flesh to the sound of his light snore and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, but she suppressed the urge and tiptoed out and down the stairs. The solarium and kitchen were deserted, and the fact that she couldn't smell coffee told her that Snape wasn't yet awake. She felt most of the soreness dissipate as she began to move around, fixing herself a glass of pumpkin juice and then putting the coffee on to brew. She didn't care much for coffee, but she loved the smell of it; it reminded her of when she was a child and went on trips with her parents. Her Dad always took a thermos full of coffee in the car with them, and she could remember early mornings sitting sleepily in the back seat watching her parents pass the thermos back and forth, sharing the coffee and talking quietly. Ever since then, the smell of coffee had given her an all-is-right-with-the-world feeling of contentment, regardless of how misleading that feeling might be.

Today, all really _did_ feel right with the world. The sun was rising over the pond – despite the fact that it had _set_ over the pond two nights before - and the day looked glorious. They would have to deal with the events of the previous day, but at that moment, she wished it could be put off – that a holiday could be declared from kidnappings and Dark potions and she could have a whole day to enjoy the end of the summer. She wanted to find a good book and dangle bare feet in the pond and let the sun warm her skin. She wanted to talk to Harry for hours, the way they had in the quiet of Gryffindor tower before he'd run away. She even wanted to spend time with Snape, talking companionably as they had by the pond two nights before. 

She had a feeling she should prepare herself for disappointment.

She finished her pumpkin juice and went again to Harry's door, opening it just a crack. He was wide-awake this time, on his back and staring at the ceiling.

"Harry?" She spoke his name softly, so as not to startle, but he didn't move. "Harry?" Louder this time.

She moved to the bed and sat on the edge, giving into her previous urge to touch him and smoothing one hand over the spiky blond hair. "Come have some breakfast with me. It's such a beautiful morning. I think I'll eat outside by the pond."

He did look at her then, a distant, disinterested look, but it was something. "Come on," she urged. "Do you want me to help you up?"

He shook his head and sat up. He had shed his trousers during the night, and she automatically handed him a dressing gown she saw draped over a chair and then helped him into it when he seemed disinclined to bother. There were limits to even the closest friendships, and she had no interest in watching Harry wander the house in his underwear. She had him seated at the small table and was putting a glass of pumpkin juice in his hand when Snape emerged from his room and joined them. He too was in his dressing gown – black of course – and his eyes had much the same glazed look that Harry's had, but Hermione knew now that the cure for him was a simple one.

She grinned at Harry. "Watch this. I'm not sure what to do about you yet, but _him _I can fix." She stepped into the tiny kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, adding a bit of milk to cool it and then handing it to Snape. 

He grunted something that might or might not have been "thank you" – and in his case it probably wasn't - and raised the cup to his lips, sinking into a chair at the same time. Hermione fixed another glass of juice and sat down at the table with the two men. "Look," she said to Harry, nodding at Snape. "The fog is lifting already."

"Miss Granger, it is positively indecent to be that cheerful this early in the morning – especially after the day we all had yesterday," he growled, his voice still rough with sleep. "I would like a few minutes of peace in which to drink my coffee. Is it at all possible that you could grant me that simple request? We do have an agreement."

"We _had _an agreement," she corrected sweetly. "It was to do with finding Harry, and Harry – quite clearly – is found, so our previous terms are now null and void. Your room is that way. If you want solitude, that's the perfect place for it. If, however, you choose to inhabit the common areas of the house, I'm afraid you're stuck with me and my cheerfulness."

He glared at her and muttered something about silencing spells. 

She snorted at that. "You won't even be able to find your wand 'til your second cup."

"Maybe Potter will cast it for me. You must be irritating him, too." 

"Oh he's used to me by now," she said, grinning at Harry. "But I think the thought might have crossed his mind a time or two when I tried to get him to study at breakfast."

A hint of a smile fluttered across Harry's face at that, and she and Snape both saw it and exchanged a quick glance. "Speaking of breakfast…" Snape said. 

"I haven't summoned it yet," she said. "But I thought it might be nice to eat out by the pond. It's such a beautiful morning, isn't it?"

"I'll take your word for it." He rose to pour a second cup of coffee, black this time. When he returned he sipped it and said, "Are you hungry, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, and Snape turned his attention back to Hermione. "How do you feel this morning?"

"Much better. I was a bit stiff when I woke up, but moving about seemed to help." 

"That will probably persist for several days," he said, "but the potion Pomfrey is sending will alleviate the worst of it."

It was on the tip of her tongue to thank him for the comfort he had offered the night before, but at the last second she changed her mind. He watched her expression change and looked at her with raised eyebrows, but she just smiled and reached for her wand, which she had decided to begin using again, rules or no rules. "I'm going to go set the table outside."

"Wonderful. I've always wanted to breakfast al fresco with my two favourite Gryffindors."

"Your room is still quite handy, Professor," she said tartly, nodding in the direction of his bedroom on her way out the door.

"How do you stand her?" Snape asked. Harry didn't answer, but Snape thought he might have seen the faint smile again. The two men sat in silence while Snape finished his second cup of coffee, and then he said, "I'm going to go get dressed. I suggest you do the same."

Harry nodded but didn't get up. "Potter!" Snape's voice had lost its morning gravel and was now capable of its full range of viciousness. "Go. Get. Dressed. _Now_."

Habit engendered compliance, and Harry rose from the table and went to his room, missing the flicker of concern that crossed Snape's face. Snape reached for his wand and went to the fireplace. "_Incendio_." He tossed in a pinch of Floo powder and stuck his head in the fire. "Albus Dumbledore."

"Good morning, Severus," Dumbledore was up and dressed and greeted him with a smile. "Did you all sleep well?"

"Fine," he said. "But Potter's no better for it. I think he may need a little more than just time."

"What do you suggest?"

"I'd like for you to have Pomfrey order an anti-depressant for him. I'd make it myself, but it takes a week, and I don't think it should wait that long. You could also check my stores for some Oatstraw infusion. That might be helpful as well."

Dumbledore nodded. "Perhaps you're right," he agreed. "I'll bring them with me when I come. Poppy has already given me the potion for Miss Granger. How is she this morning?"

"Much better and as annoying as ever. At the moment, she's outside preparing for a picnic by the pond." He rolled his eyes and Dumbledore chuckled. 

"It sounds perfectly delightful," he said. "Enjoy yourselves. I'll see Poppy immediately and bring both potions with me when I come."

"Thank you. Now if you'll excuse me, I should go dress and return to my babysitting duties."

Dumbledore just laughed.

_________________________________________________

Breakfast by the pond was remarkably pleasant - though of course Snape never would have admitted it. He and Hermione both ate with enthusiasm, having skipped dinner the night before, but Harry picked at his food, mostly staring out at the pond and letting the conversation wash over him. The only time they saw a reaction from him was when a snowy owl swooped from the sky and landed on the table in front of him, hooting happily. 

"Hello girl," he said softly. "Missed me?" 

"She's missed you terribly," Hermione said, looking hopeful at his short speech. "We all have, Harry."

Harry just shook his head, as if there was something he wanted to say, but he didn't know how to articulate it. He handed Hedwig a bite of toast and continued to stroke her soft feathers.

"What will you do with your morning?" Snape asked Hermione. 

"I thought I might bring a book out here and read. It's nice not having anything much to do, isn't it?"

"Nice for you," he retorted. "I, however, have suddenly remembered that I have a job aside from finding lost Gryffindors. I need to work on lesson plans for next term."

"Can I help?" she asked. 

"Surely you can find something more interesting to do than that."

"Of course I could. But the offer stands."

When they were finished, she cleared the table with her wand and then said to Snape, "Bring your work out here. It'll go faster if we work outside."

"What a fascinating theory. Is that something Vector taught you in Arithmancy?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "If you want my help, you'll do it _my_ way for once."

"I don't recall _ever _saying I wanted your help, and we seem to do things your way more often than not," he groused, but he summoned his books and papers from inside the house. "Here," he said, handing her a roll of parchment. "The syllabus for the first year class. I've written out the schedule of assignments already. Cross-reference the assignments with the proper sections of the text, and write in the page numbers. Here, Potter. You do the second years'."

Harry looked up in surprise, but he nodded and reached for the materials Snape held out to him. Soon the three of them were working quietly in the morning sun. 

"Done," Hermione said finally, handing him the syllabus. "Do you have more?"

"Here are the third years'," he said, giving her another text and another roll of parchment. "I'm working on the fourth right now."

"Do they change much from year to year?"

"Not usually," he said. "This year, however, I'm using new texts for the first through fourth year students, so I've had to revise those schedules the most. I shouldn't have to make many changes at all to the upper years since the texts aren't changing. The most time consuming thing is ordering the supplies. I won't be able to do that until I get back to Hogwarts and do inventory, but once I'm through with each syllabus I can go through and make lists of what I need to have on hand for each potion."

"You've a lot to do in a week," she said.

"Usually I have it done by mid-summer. I hadn't counted on being distracted by our recent adventure."

"Well, don't worry. We'll get it done," she said cheerfully. "Harry, are you just about finished with yours?" At his nod, she went on. "Well then, when you're finished doing the page numbers, go back through and begin making the supply lists."

"_Bossy_," Snape said under his breath, glancing at Harry.

Harry nodded and they saw the trace of a smile again. 

"You'd both do well to thank me instead of insulting me," she said haughtily. "I _could_ go inside and find something to read, you know, and let you worry about your own classes."

"No you can't," he said. "I'm in charge, remember? And I'm telling you to get back to work."

"You forget, Professor. That deal expired yesterday. We're going to have to renegotiate our terms."

"Soon enough we'll be back at Hogwarts where our terms are perfectly clear and I can deduct points for your insufferable cheek," he snapped. 

Hermione smiled and bent back to her work. 

_________________________________________________

Dumbledore Apparated to the garden just before noon, holding Harry's Firebolt in his hand. He found Hermione and Snape still sitting at the table. Harry had ignored Hermione's order to begin working on the supply list and instead had gotten up and was sitting on the grass near the pond, tossing bits of debris into the water. 

"How is he?" Dumbledore asked, keeping his voice low.

Hermione shook her head. "He won't talk – about anything. He nods his head occasionally, and a couple of times he's smiled a bit, but mostly it's as if he's a million miles away."

"I brought something that hopefully will help." Dumbledore reached into a voluminous pocket and withdrew two small vials and handed them to Snape.

"This one is for you," Snape said, holding up the larger of the two for Hermione's inspection and conjuring a spoon. "Go ahead and take some. It's most effective on an empty stomach."

"I really don't think I need it. I feel so much better this morning."

"For once in your life could you please do something without arguing?" 

"I'm afraid I agree with Professor Snape, Miss Granger. Please take the potion – to ease my mind if nothing else."

"Yes, sir." She poured the potion into the spoon and sniffed it a bit. "It smells vile."

"It is," Snape assured her.

"Wonderful." She drank the potion quickly, making a face and shuddering as she choked it down. "You know, the Muggles have a wonderful invention called _tablets_. Is there some reason you can't direct your energies toward developing a magical equivalent?"

"Yes," Snape assured her. "Several hundred reasons, in fact. Each one more obnoxious and irritating than the one before."

"I'm wounded, Professor." 

"You should be. You're at the head of that list."

"Wow. Bumped Harry right out of first place, have I?"

"Well, _he_ seems to have quit talking."

"All right you two. That's enough," Dumbledore said, his mouth twitching. "Harry, would you please come join us?"

Harry turned and looked at the Headmaster, and then he nodded and stood up, dusting off his shorts. 

"Hello, Harry. How are you?"

"Fine, sir," Harry mumbled. 

Dumbledore put a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. "I don't think you are, Harry – not just yet anyway – and there's no reason why you should be. But we're going to do what we can for you. Professor Snape is going to be giving you a potion that should help raise your spirits a bit and make it a little easier to talk about what's bothering you. We all want to help."

Harry nodded but didn't meet Dumbledore's eyes. Hermione did, however, and gave him a shrug. "Maybe we should go ahead and eat, sir," she suggested. "Harry didn't have much breakfast."

Dumbledore nodded, and with two claps had cleared the table of Potions classes and set it with a lavish luncheon. 

"What is this obsession you Gryffindors have with being out-of-doors?" Snape asked, settling himself back at the table with a sigh. 

"Missing the dungeons, Severus?"

"Immensely." 

"Well, you'll be back there soon enough," Dumbledore said. "But I think I'd like for you all to stay here a few more days, at least until I can settle this business with the Ministry. They know where you are, of course, but they wouldn't dare come here without my leave. I think you'll have a great deal more peace here than you would at Hogwarts, despite the absence of a dungeon."

Snape nodded, serious now. "What are they saying?"

"Horatio Barter is claiming that you attacked Finbar of your own volition - to settle some grudge dating back to your schooldays."

"Rubbish," Snape snapped. 

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed calmly. "And we can prove it. I'd like to prove it without having to go through a formal Ministry enquiry, however. Let's start at the beginning and go over everything that happened from the time Harry disappeared from Hogwarts."

Hermione and Snape did their part, telling the whole story, even the parts Dumbledore had already heard before. Harry stubbornly refused to say a word, so his portion of the story remained supposition, though they did get him to confirm through nods and shakes of the head that Peter Pettigrew had indeed led him to Arnold Street with an attempted Imperius curse and that he had cast Cruciatus in retribution. He had not, however, cast the curse that killed Pettigrew, and Dumbledore seemed relieved by that. 

"Now about what happened yesterday," Dumbledore began carefully. "You were a bit unclear in your owl, Severus. The Aurors will have collected Neilus's body by now and examined the house. There will be questions about his death. I need to know exactly what happened."

Hermione and Snape exchanged a look, and then she glanced at Harry, who had his head down and was pushing his food around his plate. "I'm not exactly sure, sir," she said. "I was being tortured, and then suddenly it was over and he was dead. I did think…" she looked at Snape again. "I thought there were two killing curses…but he couldn't have cursed Professor Snape while casting Cruciatus at me, could he?"

"No," Snape answered. "He couldn't have. One of the lights you saw was from my wand. The other one…came from Potter." He looked at the Headmaster. "No one else need know that, Albus. They'll have all the proof they need in my wand, and there's no way of knowing which of the two actually killed him. I truly don't know myself."

Dumbledore sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing tiredly over the bridge of his nose. "You'll be questioned, Severus. Barter is already involved and is clearly trying to make this as bad for you as he can."

"I was defending two students," Snape said coldly.

"I know that, of course, but it is an irregular situation, to say the least. Your presence in the house – all of you – will be cast in the least appealing light possible. Of course, there is evidence of Harry's confinement, and that will work in our favour, but Barter is arguing that if you knew Harry was in the house, the Aurors should have been called immediately. And then to have a student use Dark Magic to get him out…well, you can see how they might make this difficult for us."

"Sir, the Aurors missed all sorts of important evidence at Finbar's house in London," Hermione exclaimed. "Who's to say they wouldn't have bungled Harry's rescue even worse? It's because Professor Snape made the decisions he did that Harry is sitting here with us right now. How dare they question that!"

"The end justifies the means," Snape murmured, cutting his eyes at her.

"In this case, _yes_," she snapped. "Surely when they see that horrible hole…"

"They've seen it," Dumbledore said quietly. "And no one is arguing that Finbar was anything but terribly wrong to have taken Harry." Dumbledore glanced at Harry, who was still staring at his plate. "Harry, I think your testimony in this matter will be crucial. I believe that when they've heard what you suffered at Finbar's hands, they will realize that justice has already been done and let the matter drop."

Harry stiffened a little and then nodded slightly. "Can I go inside now?" he asked. "I think I'd like to sleep some more." 

Dumbledore nodded, his forehead creased with concern, and Harry rose from his chair. "Here, Potter," Snape said. "Take this." He held out a spoonful of the potion, and Harry drank it without changing expression. 

"I'll go in with you, Harry," Hermione said, standing up too. "Professor Dumbledore probably wants to talk to Professor Snape without us anyway." She gave the Headmaster a small smile and took Harry's arm, walking with him into the house.

The two men watched them go. "I can handle the Ministry, Severus - I'm going to take this matter straight to Cornelius and insist that these ridiculous insinuations stop - but I'll need Harry's help, and right now, he doesn't seem capable. Do you think he's going to be all right?"

"I don't know. Fortunately, there was sufficient evidence that Finbar never completed the potion I conceived back in my school days. I think all Potter was given were sleeping draughts and depressants, both of which should be out of his system. That means that this business now is psychological rather than physiological. The anti-depressant might help, but cheering people up has never exactly been my forte."

Dumbledore smiled at that. "Perhaps not, but I think what Harry needs most right now is someone who understands how he's feeling."

"Well that changes everything. I've long been known for my empathy."

An outright laugh this time. "You underestimate yourself, as always. Try. Please try."

Snape sighed.

_________________________________________________

Harry spent the rest of the day either napping in his room or staring out the window while Hermione and Snape completed the work on the Potions syllabi and discussed the topics the seventh year students would be covering that year. They all avoided the subjects discussed during their luncheon with Dumbledore, Hermione making an obvious effort to keep the conversation light.

While they were eating supper, she encouraged Harry to go for an evening ride on his Firebolt, but he shook his head. He'd eaten almost nothing since he'd arrived at the cottage, and Snape finally insisted, telling him that his potion was more effective on a full stomach and demanding that he clean his plate. Harry glared, but he did eat a bit more than he had a previous meals, and after dinner Snape administered the anti-depressant again.

It was early when Harry told them he wanted to go to bed, but Snape just looked up from the book he was reading and said, "Fine, Potter. We'll see you in the morning."

Harry looked at Hermione. "Will you…will you come up with me?" he asked softly.

"Sure, Harry," she said, rising and going to him. "I'd be happy to." The two friends walked across the solarium and up the winding stairs together, a pair of dark eyes following them.

_________________________________________________

"He's asleep," she said, coming down the stairs and leaning against the window frame. "He never said anything, but he seemed anxious when I made to leave, so I thought I'd better stay with him until he drifted off."

He nodded. "That's fine. In fact…" an unreadable look crossed his face and she looked at him more attentively. "We are not at Hogwarts, Miss Granger."

"Yes, I'd noticed," she teased. 

"Of course. What I'm getting at is that inasmuch as it is between terms and we are off the grounds, I see no reason why school rules should apply. You and Potter are both of age, and if he feels better with you in there…"

"Oh," she said, finally understanding what he meant. "Professor, Harry and I aren't…that is to say, we've never been…Harry and I are just friends," she said finally.

She was rewarded for this bit of inarticulation by the first look of astonishment she had ever witnessed on Severus Snape's face. It was there and gone in a flash, but she knew she had read him correctly and laughed. "I promise," she added.

"But that morning, back at Hogwarts…" he began suspiciously.

"It was just strange for both of us being alone in the tower that night, especially for Harry, since he was used to sleeping in the room with Ron." She shrugged her shoulders at him. "It wasn't a big deal, really, except that you all walked in on us the next day and jumped to the wrong conclusions."

"You have to admit it looked incriminating." 

"It wouldn't be a _crime_ even if it had been what it looked like," she countered, "but yes, I will agree that it probably gave a wrong impression. It was in no way habit-forming, however, and I think Harry will be fine in his own bed tonight." She crossed the room as she spoke and perched next to him on the edge of the sofa. "But…" She bit her lip, an activity he had come to recognize as a symptom of indecision.

"But what?"

"Well, I was just wondering if you meant all of that about it being between terms and us not being at Hogwarts."

"Neither of those points is debatable, Miss Granger, as you yourself indicated. Of course I meant it." When she had known him less well, she would have been offended by his insulting drawl, but now she recognized that he was deliberately baiting her and she took no offence.

"So normal school rules don't apply here?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Given your history, perhaps I should find out what hideous infraction you're planning before I answer that."

"I assure you, Professor, I have no history of this," she said, giving him a searching look. He met her eyes with frank curiosity but nothing more, and she somehow found the nerve to reach up and place her hands gently on his cheeks. She was struck by the warmth of his flesh beneath her palms. He looked like a marble sculpture, all cold planes and angles, the image of a man rather than the man himself, but his skin gave lie to the illusion. She felt the rasp of his slight beard with her sensitive fingertips and the contrasting silky length of his hair as it fell forward and caressed the backs of her hands. 

His dark eyes widened slightly in incomprehension, and she took advantage of his rare delayed reaction, gently pulling his face down to hers. Her lips brushed his a little awkwardly, experimentally, and she felt him stiffen and heard his sharp intake of breath. She thought he would pull away and felt an immediate rush of mortification, but instead, a hand cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Embarrassment subsided and was replaced by adrenaline soaked pleasure as she forfeited all control of the encounter, gave herself up into his more experienced hands, and allowed herself to become lost in the sensations he was arousing. 

How could she have ever thought him cold? 

The mouth that she was accustomed to seeing twisted in a scowl was now passionate…pliant…hard and soft by turns, demanding one second and teasing the next. Her world narrowed to include little more than those lips on hers and then expanded just enough to welcome the eager exploration of his tongue. The cottage, Harry, the recent week – it all seemed to disappear as their kisses became more frantic, more hungry, and they fought to get closer in the awkward confines of the sofa. His hands were everywhere, stroking and pressing her to him in a way that was nearly desperate. Somehow – she was becoming quite fuzzy on details – he pulled her on top of him, looping one long leg over hers to hold her firmly in place. Instinct fuelled her urge to be closer still, and she rocked her hips against him, gasping at the rush of primitive pleasure.

She heard an answering guttural sound from somewhere deep in his throat, and then he froze. His eyes flew open and she watched the passion in their black depths ebb and become replaced by icy panic as it dawned on him what he was doing – and with whom. 

"_Don't_," she whispered urgently. "Don't you dare pull away."

"We can't…" He tried to extricate himself, but for the moment she had the advantage, and she made the most of it, pressing herself to him, tangling her legs with his. "You don't know what you're playing at," he whispered, subsiding back onto the sofa. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"You seemed to like it," she countered.

"I'm _human_. Contrary to popular opinion." She relaxed a little when she felt that he wasn't going to try to pull away again. He didn't, but he didn't reach for her either; he just searched her face, taking in the swollen lips and the eyes still burning with desire…for him. It didn't seem possible and was, in fact, so far out of his normal range of experience that he found himself quite at a loss as to how to behave. He had never once, _ever_, laid a hand on a student. He had never made a single suggestive comment or, in fact, even lusted after a student. Having to watch them make their slow, awkward and often downright painful way from childhood through adolescence was enough to remove any possibility that he could be attracted to them. They were just students, there to be suffered rather than enjoyed. A mere week ago, Hermione Granger had been no different. But now he knew her for more than just the know-it-all with a propensity for following Harry Potter into trouble. He knew her intelligence, her wit, her bravery, and he admired her more than he had allowed himself to admit. And now she was in his arms, making him an offer he had to refuse, but her nearness and the effect that it was having on him was making it nearly impossible. 

"We can't," he said again, stronger this time. "Teacher…student." He pointed to each of them in turn. "We can't."

"We're not at Hogwarts," she said. "You're not my teacher right now."

"Hermione." _Hermione, be reasonable. Don't twist my words around. Don't make me choose between you and my job because at the moment, the job is losing. _

"Oh, I like it when you say my name," she breathed, leaning down to kiss him again. 

He stopped her, long fingers gently gripping her jaw. "Then I won't do it again," he said softly. "_Please_."

She nodded then and lifted herself away from him, awkwardly scrambling away and sitting some distance down on the sofa, biting her lip again. She pulled her hair out of its clip and hid behind the curtain it formed while he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I should have known you wouldn't want to…with me. I'm sorry – I've gone and ruined everything now, haven't I?"

"You're wrong on both counts," he said taking a deep breath. He pulled his hands from his face but kept his gaze trained on the floor. "I _did_ want to – very much, in fact, and I don't think you've ruined everything, exactly. Changed things a bit, perhaps…"

"I'm not in the habit of, well, throwing myself at men," she said, risking a peep around the curtain of brown curls.

"I didn't think you were," he responded. "Are you somehow under the impression that I think less of you? Your actions call your good taste rather seriously into question, I'm afraid, but my opinion of you is unchanged."

She smiled at that and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I've always thought my taste in men was rather above average," she said, "at least when compared with the other girls in my year."

"If they were aware of tonight's events, I doubt very much that they would agree," he said dryly, and she laughed softly.

"Well, perhaps not," she agreed. "But that's only because they don't really know you."

"And you do?" he challenged. "After a few days in my company?"

"Oh yes. Or at least, I know everything that matters about you. I know that you're brilliant – well, I've always known that, I guess, but now I also know that you're brave enough to risk your life for what you believe in. I know that you care about Harry, no matter how much you try to pretend you don't. I know that when I was scared you made me feel safe, and when I was stupid you made me stop and think. I know that for some reason you think you don't deserve to have a normal life with things like friends and people who love you, but I think you're wrong about that."

He stood up stiffly, glaring down on her. "I think, Miss Granger, that it is time for you to take off those rose-colored glasses and see me as I really am. I am living the life that I have chosen. I am not waiting around for you or anyone else to _rescue_ me."

"Then you should be," she answered coldly, refusing to hide from his glare. 

"Goodnight, Miss Granger," he snapped, and then he pivoted and went to his bedroom, wishing the damned room had a door, just so he could have the childish pleasure of slamming it.

_________________________________________________

Hermione slept fitfully and arose early to find Harry sitting on the sofa staring out the window at the pond.

"Hi," she said softly. "Did you sleep well?"

No answer. No sign he'd even heard her. 

"Let me get you some breakfast." She went to the kitchen and began moving around while keeping up a running patter of conversation. "I'm thinking of going for a swim today. Would you like to go with me? We'll need to wait until the sun is high though. What would you like to do until then? I promise I won't ask you to study – did you ever think you'd hear me say that? We have so little time before school starts though, and it will be nice to spend it together. You're going to be better soon, Harry. I just know it…" The babbling went on and on, and still Harry gave no sign he'd heard. 

The bookcase leading to Snape's room slid open and she abruptly fell silent. He entered the kitchen and reached for the coffee pot, and she automatically handed him the milk but didn't wish him good morning or offer any other greeting.

"How is he this morning?" Snape asked, surprising her with pre-coffee conversation. Perverse man. The one morning she _didn't_ want to talk…

"The same."

He nodded and went to sit at the table with his cup. He finished it quickly, as usual, and then said, "Mr Potter."

No answer.

"_Potter_…you will look at me when I talk to you." Something about the tone got through because Harry turned his head. "Come to table. You need to eat something."

Harry nodded slightly and rose from the sofa to make his way to the table, where he dropped into a chair. Hermione set a plate in front of him but didn't join them as she had the night before. Instead, she took her teacup to the sofa, taking Harry's place gazing out the window.

"What's wrong?" Harry's voice startled them both, and for a moment they froze, looking at him.

"Harry?" Hermione ventured.

He turned and looked at her and repeated his question. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" she asked carefully. There was, after all, a list of potential answers to _that_ question.

"You two," he said, gesturing from her to Snape. "What happened? Why aren't you talking?"

Hermione felt her face flaming and couldn't have looked at Severus Snape if the Minister for Magic himself had ordered her to. "We, uh, just had a misunderstanding, Harry. It's no big deal."

Harry turned then and looked into Snape's black eyes. "You're a fool," he said quietly before rising from the table and walking out of the cottage.

_________________________________________________

"Explain yourself." Snape found Harry out by the pond in the same position he had occupied the day before, tossing bits of grass into the water and watching the ripples spread out towards the water's edge. 

"You first." Harry continued to stare at the water.

"I beg your pardon?" Snape towered over him, glaring furiously. "What possible explanation could I owe you?"

"The misunderstanding. With Hermione."

"Concerns Miss Granger and me and is none of your bloody business."

"She's my friend. She's my business."

"And you were so concerned for her that you ran away, leaving her an owl and a three-sentence note."

Harry turned then and looked at Snape, a fierce expression in his green eyes. "Yes. That's exactly what I did and exactly why I did it. I was _concerned_. Nearly everyone I've ever cared about is dead, Professor. I think I have pretty good reason to be concerned about the few friends I have left."

"You've known her for six years. You should have known her well enough to know she wouldn't just let you go."

"She should have. You all should have." 

Snape didn't know what to say to that, and he inwardly cursed Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black and anyone else who had one shred of responsibility for putting him in his current position. "But we didn't," he said harshly. "So now the question is what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to run away again," Harry said simply. "Not today, but eventually."

Snape squatted down a few feet away from Harry. "Why?"

"There was a rumour going around school last year that I was gay. Did you ever hear that?"

Snape's eyes narrowed as he tried to wrap his mind around the apparent non sequitur_. For the love of what little is good in this world,_ _please don't let Harry Potter start jumping out of closets in my presence. _"I…might have," he answered slowly. 

Harry looked at Snape, a little amused. "I'm not gay," he said. "But that rumour got started because I've never really had a proper girlfriend. I could have, you know. There have always been girls who wanted to date famous Harry Potter. But after Cedric died, I started to realize that anyone close to me was in danger. That I was in danger pretty much all the time. How could I have a girlfriend, knowing that she might get killed because of me? Or that I might up and die on her? I couldn't do anything about Ron and Hermione – they wouldn't let me – but I decided then not to form any more close friendships. Once Voldemort was killed, I thought maybe it was finally my turn to be, well, _normal_. To have friends, maybe a girlfriend if I met someone I liked. And then Sirius died, and I knew it would never happen. I grew up in a cupboard with no friends, no one who cared about me, and as long as I'm Harry Potter, I might as well still be in that cupboard. I don't want to live that way anymore." Harry shrugged. "I don't want to be Harry Potter anymore."

Snape sighed. "You _are _Harry Potter. You don't get a choice about that. You can change your hair and wear that ludicrous earring and you're _still_ going to be a wizard – and a damned powerful one. That comes with a responsibility that you can't just walk away from."

"What more do I owe the wizarding world, Professor?" Harry asked coldly. "I've given them my parents, my godfather, my best friend. I've defeated Voldemort. Why should I give them a single other minute of my life? I can't live like that. I can't live like _you_."

Snape went rigid. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

"What happened between you and Hermione?"

"I told you. That's none of your business. And it has nothing to do with the question I asked."

"It has everything to do with it, and you know it. Just because I didn't talk yesterday doesn't mean I wasn't paying attention. You probably have no idea how obvious you both were."

"Shut up, Potter. I would think that your own considerable problems would be sufficient for you right now without getting involved in something that doesn't concern you in the least."

"I knew yesterday what was going to happen," Harry went on, ignoring Snape's warning entirely. "I didn't know it would happen so fast, but I knew it would happen. You can't let her get close to you, can you? You can't let anyone get close. I know that feeling, Professor. I know it because I've lived with it for years. Not as many years as you have, probably, but long enough to recognize it when I see it."

"Spare me your psychobabble, Mr. Potter," Snape sneered. "I'm her teacher and twice her age. It's no more complicated than that."

"Fine. Then who are your friends, Professor? Why haven't you ever married? You probably don't even have your own owl, do you? You think I don't know why? I know what you've been doing for Dumbledore all these years – I know better than anyone how dangerous it was. It's easier if you're not leaving anyone behind, isn't it?"

Snape felt light-headed. His ears were ringing. The urge to drive his fist into Potter's face was so strong that he quivered with the suppression of it. He didn't even consider his wand. A hex wouldn't be nearly satisfying enough, nearly personal enough. He wanted to feel the bones breaking beneath his hands, feel the boy's flesh splitting open and the warm flow of his blood over his knuckles. He'd only felt this way a few times in his life, and there had always been a Potter involved. 

__

Potters. He hated the whole fucking family.

"I'm sorry." 

Snape's rage was so consuming that it took a minute for him to process Harry's soft words. 

"I shouldn't have said that," Harry went on. "It's your business how you live your life. I don't care – really. I just wish Hermione wasn't involved…but it's still your business. But just because you're able to exist the way you do doesn't mean that it's right for me. I'd rather live as a Muggle than be alone for the rest of my life. Shouldn't I be allowed to make that choice?"

Snape got up and walked away, his hands still clenched into fists. He turned his back on the boy and his poisonous insights and took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself enough to finish the conversation. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned around, and he felt his right hand close over the coin Black had given him. There was the flash of warmth again, and then words crossed his lips that he wasn't sure had ever journeyed through his brain. "I'll help you."

"What?"

"If you want to live as a Muggle, I'll help you do it," Snape said. "You can go anytime you want, and I'll see to it that no one comes looking for you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Why?"

"You're right. You've earned the right to make the choice." 

Harry nodded. "I'll stay long enough to make sure there's not a problem with the Ministry – to testify if Dumbledore needs me to."

"Fine." Snape turned to walk back to the cottage. 

"Professor." 

"What?" Snape answered without turning around.

"I've never seen Hermione like this about anyone. Every time she looks at you – well, it's just obvious, you know? Are you sure you can't…?"

"Mind your own business, Potter," Snape said wearily. He stalked back inside, leaving Harry behind.

_________________________________________________

Snape retrieved the materials for his classes and settled with them at the table. He refused to hide in his room, but the thought was tempting. 

Hermione moved about quietly, cleaning up her breakfast dishes and removing a book from Dumbledore's shelves, pointedly not offering to assist him again. Only a day before, silences between them had been comfortable; now they were oppressive, and he was relieved when she took Harry's Firebolt and went outside. 

He glanced out the window and saw her settling in with her book as Harry soared into the sky, and he tried to tell himself that things were as they should be. The natural order had been restored, and the Gryffindor heroes were outside in the fresh air and the Slytherin spy was holed up in the house, even if the house _was_ a botanical nightmare. What had happened the night before - the whole week before - had represented a deviation from that natural order, an unlikely fraternization between Gryffindor and Slytherin, student and teacher, optimism and bitterness. He had no doubt that what had been accomplished in a few short days – surely a schoolgirl crush and no more - would be undone just as quickly. He acknowledged that fact to himself and then savagely beat back the weak and traitorous part of him that was inclined toward regret.

_________________________________________________

Hermione sat with her book open in her lap, watching Harry swoop through the sky. Several times he disappeared from sight, and she worried that perhaps he would take advantage of his freedom and run away again. He didn't. He always returned, occasionally coming close enough to flash her a smile. He was clearly happier than he had been since they had pulled him out of Finbar's basement, and it made her a little sad that he was finding that happiness alone on a broomstick rather than in her company. 

She didn't get much reading done.

When her mind wasn't occupied with Harry, it was on the brooding, taciturn man inside. What had she been _thinking _to kiss him like that? With that one foolish act, she had justified every comment he'd ever made about the reckless, impetuous nature of Gryffindors. She hadn't spent the day thinking about kissing him. She hadn't spent even ten minutes thinking about kissing him. But when he gave his little speech about them not being at Hogwarts, it seemed as if kissing Severus Snape had been something she had wanted to do for days and _had_ to do right then, and she had acted on the impulse without thinking about it at all. Had she but paused for thought, it never would have happened.

And now that it had happened, she could think of nothing else. If that was what kissing Slytherins was like, she planned to make a habit of it. If that was what kissing teachers was like, no male teacher would ever be safe from her. She paused a moment to smile at the idea of attacking little Professor Flitwick in the corridors, and then acknowledged to herself that what she had felt the night before was not because he was a Slytherin or a teacher or anything as simple as that. It was because he was Severus Snape, and somehow – and this was the part that was hard to believe – she had come to feel something for him over the last difficult days. A less sensible girl might have rushed to call it love. She wasn't prepared to go that far, but it was attraction, certainly, and _interest _along with a respect and admiration she would never have believed possible back in the days when she had known him only as her teacher. 

Over the past few days, she had seen other sides of Snape, had peeked behind the mask he wore to such great effect. He had tried to maintain a cool distance and to be as superior and infuriating as ever he was in Potions class, but even he couldn't keep up that act twenty-four hours a day, and she had caught glimpses of the qualities she had mentioned to him the night before – his devotion to the Order, his bravery, even unexpected flashes of humour and occasional tenderness. Cool distance had given way to lukewarm companionship, and then last night it had disappeared, to be replaced briefly by something that wasn't cool - or distant - at all.

It was, she reflected, impossible to maintain a cool distance whilst snogging someone nearly senseless. Even for Snape.

And that left her…where, exactly? Embarrassed. Infused with a fresh dread of Potions class. Wishing desperately that Dumbledore would call them back to Hogwarts and she could either go home or hole up in Gryffindor tower with a very large stack of books. 

But also perversely wishing that he would kiss her again…and again…and again, and not stop there - not stop at all. She'd never wished that about any of the boys she had kissed before, but last night she would have given herself to her Potions Master without pausing for a second thought.

__

Perhaps it's high time you started pausing for second thoughts, she told herself, in a voice that sounded much like her mother's. _It just might keep you out of messes like this one._

Harry came zooming into sight, passing just above the trees, and she smiled and gave him a small wave. He did a loop in midair over the pond and then swooped down and landed gracefully beside her. His cheeks were flushed and there was a light in his eyes she hadn't seen since before Sirius died. He dropped his broom and threw himself on the ground next to her.

"That felt good," he said.

"I can tell. You look better."

"A little maybe. I think Snape's potion is probably helping." He glanced out at the pond and began plucking at the grass, as he had the day before. "I was just…I don't know how to explain it, Hermione. All day yesterday, all I could think was that you should have just left me there. You risked your life to save me, and I'm not sure I can even thank you for it."

"I didn't do it to be thanked."

"I know." He reached for her hand and then paused to examine the entwined fingers. "I may…need to go away again," he said softly. "I want you to promise me that if I do, you won't come after me."

"Harry…"

"I mean it, Hermione. I don't want to be Harry Potter anymore. I'm sick of it. Sick of the whole bloody mess. I'm sick of being the boy who lived while everyone he cared about died."

"It's _not your fault_." She punctuated her statement with a squeeze to his hand.

"And I'm not going away to punish myself," he insisted. "I'm going away because it's the only way I'll be able to live the life I want to live."

Hermione withdrew her hand and wrapped her arms tightly around her knees. "This is so unfair," she said, her voice quavering with the effort of holding back the tears. "First Ron, and now you…Harry, I'm not sure I can…" 

It was simply too much, and she put her head in her arms and cried. Harry, always uncomfortable around feminine tears, patted her arm helplessly and said, "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…please don't do this, Hermione, _please _stop crying…"

"Shut up, you," she managed finally, her voice hitching over the words. "If you're going to leave me, the _least_ you can do is listen to me cry about it for a few minutes." She lifted her splotchy face and glared at him. He looked utterly stricken, his eyes pathetic behind the odd new glasses, and somehow that was funny and her mouth twitched slightly. "You're a real prat sometimes, Harry."

"I'm a real prat most of the time," he said, relieved that the tears had stopped, at least for the moment.

"Why doesn't _that _ever make the papers?" she wondered, and then they were both laughing.

"Once I'm gone, you can write one of those unauthorized, tell-all books about me," he suggested. "You have my full permission."

"Idiot. How can it be unauthorized if I have your permission?"

"Oh. Well, I take it back then. It'll sell better if it's unauthorized."

"Don't joke. I just might do it."

He put his arm around her and hugged her to his side. "I hope you make a mint."

"When will you go?" she asked softly, leaning into him.

"Not right away. I promised Snape that I'd stay long enough to make sure there was no trouble with the Ministry."

"You told him you were running away?"

Harry nodded. "He said he'd help me. Two weeks ago I'd have said it was because he couldn't wait to get rid of me, but now…I dunno. I think maybe he actually understands."

"Well, he did go to a lot of trouble to find you," she agreed. "If he'd just wanted to get rid of you, he needn't have bothered."

"I suppose so," he said, and then after a brief pause he went on. "Can I ask? About the misunderstanding you two had?"

She sighed. "I made an idiot of myself. That's the short version."

"Give me the long version and I'll decide if I agree."

"I…er…kissed him."

Harry winced a bit at the mental image that evoked, but Hermione was quite absorbed with something across the pond and didn't notice. "Did he kiss you back?"

"Oh _yes_," she said, and something about the vehemence of her tone made Harry wince again and wish he'd never asked.

"So…how is that making an idiot of yourself?"

"He…uh…seemed to suddenly realize what we were doing and broke it off. He gave me the teacher-student speech and was actually rather nice about it all, and that's when I really messed up. I told him…well, it doesn't really matter exactly what I said, but he seemed to think I was feeling sorry for him and basically told me to leave him alone, that he liked his life just fine the way it was."

"Then _he's_ the idiot," Harry said firmly. "I told him that this morning if you recall."

"So you did. How did you know then what had happened?"

Harry shrugged. "Lucky guess. I saw yesterday how you felt about him – couldn't believe it at first, mind you, but I saw it clear as day – and just had a feeling it wasn't going to go well. I don't think it has much to do with him being a teacher, either. You're so close to finishing school that it hardly matters."

"Then what is it?"

Harry shook his head. "You should ask him. I'd just be guessing."

"I'm certainly _not_ going to ask him."

"What is it about him, Hermione? I've never seen you like this about anyone, and to have it be _Snape_ of all people…"

"I know," she gave him a wan smile. "I can't believe it myself. He's just…not what we always thought he was. There's so much more to him, and I've only caught glimpses so far, but I really like what I've seen. He's loads more interesting than the boys at school, and smarter, and brave, and quite funny, actually, when he wants to be. He's…well, that voice and those dark eyes…I know he's not what most girls would call handsome, but there's something about him..."

"I'm feeling a little sick," Harry said, cutting her off.

"Well don't _ask_ if you don't want me to answer."

"I know, I know. Sorry. I've just never pictured him in quite that way, and now my brain is running screaming in the other direction. It'll pass."

"I hate to think we're waiting on _your_ brain to do anything," she snapped.

Harry laughed. "So what are you going to do?"

She shrugged. "Nothing, I suppose. He made himself quite clear. I'm going to keep my eyes on my cauldron in class and hope the year passes quickly."

"That's probably for the best."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"If things were different, do you think he could be interested in me?"

Harry sighed. "I think he _is_ interested in you. But he's _Snape,_ and things aren't different. I wouldn't want you to get your hopes up."

"Harry, my hopes are about as far from 'up' as they can possibly get."

Harry nodded, and the two friends sat together in silence until hunger drove them back into the cottage.


	19. The Serpent and the Lion

Harry, Hermione and Snape suffered through a mostly silent luncheon together, and then Hermione escaped to her room with a book, unable to face Snape any longer and still grieving over her conversation with Harry that morning. Her emotions were in a complete tangle, and she was unaccustomed to the feeling. She had watched the other girls in her House as they had moaned and wailed about one love after another, but she had always been _sensible_ where boys were concerned. There had been a few boys she had liked well enough to go to a dance or two with, but at seventeen, her heart had never really been touched. Now it felt like it was being ripped out. Having acknowledged the truth of her feelings for Snape, she was too innately honest to _un_-acknowledge them now that they were painful and inconvenient. She was stuck living with the fact that she not only had unrequited feelings for a teacher – a teacher she had formerly loathed – but that she had foolishly acted on those feelings and been summarily rejected. 

She might have been able to deal with that humiliation better had it not just preceded the announcement that she was losing her remaining best friend. A part of her had wanted to argue with Harry, to insist that he either stay or promise to keep in touch - anything except disappearing from her life completely. She might do that yet, actually, but just then he seemed so fragile, so unlike the Harry she had grown to know. She was used to being able to predict Harry's every mood and response, but the Harry who had emerged from the cellar was different from the one who had fled Hogwarts in the aftermath of Sirius's terrible death, and the differences went far deeper than the blond hair and new glasses. She was unsure of herself with Harry for the first time in years, and that uncertainty paralysed her. She was afraid that any misstep would send him running headlong away from her again. And then, too, a part of her realized that maybe he was right. Didn't he have the right to choose his own life, even if his choice caused her pain? Wasn't it selfish for her to try to deny him that, even now, when she needed him more than ever? 

Her seventh year at Hogwarts stretched ahead of her like an extended nightmare, and she could hardly sort out where one pain ended and the other began. She tried to focus on her book with the same tunnel vision she applied to her schoolwork, blocking everything from her mind but what she was reading. For practically the first time in her life, it didn't work. She was in dire straits indeed when even books couldn't provide solace.

_________________________________________________

Downstairs, Harry and Snape remained at the table after Hermione left, the awkwardness eased somewhat by her departure. 

"You need to take this again." Snape handed Harry his potion, and Harry swallowed it obediently.

"I think that's helping some."

"It works quickly, but you'll need to keep taking it for a while. Perhaps until you leave."

"Right. Anything's better than feeling like I did."

"I've been giving some thought to what we discussed earlier," Snape said. "I have some suggestions as to how you might get started somewhere else. Of course, it involves actual forethought and planning, and that might not be reckless enough for your tastes."

"Well, my way didn't exactly work out all that well, did it? I'd be willing to try something different next time."

Snape snorted his opinion of that and reached for his glass.

"Professor?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure that Pettigrew and Finbar are the ones who killed Sirius?"

"I think it very likely, but there's no way to know for sure that there wasn't someone else involved," Snape answered carefully. "I'm quite confident that Finbar prepared the potion, and I think it probable that Pettigrew administered it, but since neither one is available to testify at this point, we may never know."

"I want to be sure before I leave."

"I would strongly suggest that you not waste your time on vengeance, Mr. Potter."

"It wouldn't be a waste of time," Harry countered, his face stony. "It would be…tying up loose ends."

"Well _don't_," Snape snapped. "You'll only put yourself at risk, and for what? What good will it do Black or anyone else?"

"You've felt it, haven't you?" Harry asked softly. "You know."

"What are you blathering about now, Mr. Potter?"

"When I cursed Peter Pettigrew…I don't think I've ever felt better in my life. Even when I killed Voldemort. I think about Wormtail lying there on the ground screaming, and I wish I could live that moment again and again."

Snape sat in silence, and Harry went on. "The other day, down in that basement…you could have stunned Finbar, but you didn't. You cast the killing curse instead."

"As did you."

"Exactly. And I'm glad I did. I didn't even give it a thought. I hope my curse is the one that killed him."

Black eyes met unwavering green for a long moment of rare understanding. "I hope that mine was – and I _did _give it some thought."

Harry nodded slowly. "Does that make us…like Voldemort? I used to see how much pleasure he took in hurting people, in killing, and it made me sick. Now I…well, I guess I understand it in a way. I've always wanted to be like Professor Dumbledore, but I don't think I am, really."

Snape sighed. "You're comparing yourself to two extremes, Mr. Potter, and the truth is that most people fall somewhere in the middle. The lure of the Dark is the lure of _power_, and even Muggles are susceptible to it. It's a part of the human condition, not just the wizard's condition, and because of your extraordinary powers, it's something you'll probably have to fight for the rest of your life."

"What if I don't want to?"

"You do. We wouldn't be having this conversation if you didn't."

Harry thought about that for a moment. "I'm still not sorry they're dead. I'm not sorry I tortured Pettigrew."

"I'm not either."

"I know you didn't like him, but…what do you think my dad would have done?"

Snape shook his head. "I have no idea. I would recommend asking Lupin that question."

"He always just says that my dad would be proud of me no matter what. It sounds nice, but it's not much help, really."

"I would have to agree." Snape paused a moment. "I really don't know what your father would have done, but I think you are, as usual, dwelling on inconsequential matters while ignoring the salient point."

"Which is what?"

Snape made a sound of disgust. "Which is, obviously, that you're old enough now to be responsible for your own choices without regard to what James Potter would have done, or Albus Dumbledore, or anyone else."

"Still, it would be nice to know," Harry said, a bit dejectedly. "I had the feeling Professor Dumbledore was disappointed in me."

"Professor Dumbledore has an astonishing capacity for forgiveness and belief in the possibility of redemption. I doubt he's written you off just yet."

"You're talking about you."

Snape clapped his hands slowly, mockingly. "You dazzle me with your brilliant insight, Mr. Potter."

Harry glared and tensed in his seat. "Why do you make it so bloody difficult to have a conversation with you? Hermione seems to think you have all these wonderful _qualities_, but you sure work hard to keep them hidden."

"Miss Granger is obviously more imaginative than I've ever given her credit for," Snape said coldly. "And I believe I made it clear earlier that I wasn't interested in discussing her with you."

"I wasn't trying to discuss her," Harry argued. "I was trying to discuss you. But since you brought it up, I don't think she's being _imaginative _at all. I think you just can't stand the fact that someone actually found something to like about you."

"Shut up, Potter."

"I won't," Harry said, shaking his head defiantly. "You know, I've always had people who liked me, but usually it was for all the wrong reasons. It was because I had a stupid scar on my head and got my picture in the paper. They didn't even know me. But Hermione likes you in spite of how terrible you've been to us over the years. She sees stuff in you that no one else sees at all. Do you know what I would give to have someone like me that way?"

"Not everyone is as pathetically needy as you are," Snape sneered.

"Yeah, Professor. I think everyone _is_. Isn't that part of the human condition too? And I think maybe you _are_ human." Harry smirked. "Contrary to popular opinion."

Snape's eyes narrowed. Had the girl told Potter that he'd said those very words? "I'm going to tell you one more time to stay out of this, Potter. Your friend has developed an inexplicable schoolgirl crush. It will pass, and she will move on to bestow her affections on someone more appropriate. Those are my final words on the matter."

"Hermione doesn't _do_ schoolgirl crushes, Professor," Harry said. _Well, not since she was twelve anyway_, he thought to himself. "Those are _my_ final words on the matter." Harry scraped back his chair and rose from his place at the table. "And I will stay out of it. In fact, I'm going to go back to Hogwarts. I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore. I wasn't exactly helpful yesterday, and I think there are some things he needs to know."

"The Headmaster made it very clear that he wants us all to stay here. He will call you if he wants you."

Harry shrugged. "He's opened the Floo. If he wants to send me back here, he can. I'll leave Hedwig with you in case you need an owl for some reason. She hates travelling by Floo." With that he tapped at the window pane and disappeared up the stairs, returning quickly with his knapsack over one shoulder and his wand, which Snape had retrieved from Finbar's house, in his hand. 

"Did you tell Miss Granger you're pulling another disappearing act?" Snape asked coldly.

"No. I thought I'd let you explain. It'll give you two something to talk about."

"I predict the Headmaster will send you back here within the hour, and explanations will be unnecessary."

"Maybe." 

Snape was paralysed with rare indecision. He was technically in charge here; The Headmaster had clearly left the two errant Gryffindors under his protection, and he could probably force Potter to stay. But he couldn't deny that the boy made a decent point, damn him. Dumbledore did need to talk to Potter and probably would welcome him back to Hogwarts with open arms, even if he did return him to the cottage later for safekeeping. For Snape to argue with the boy, to order him to stay, would be tantamount to admitting that he was afraid to be alone there with Hermione. 

And when, exactly, had he started thinking of her as Hermione?

"Get out of my sight, Potter." He had been shooting for a snarl, but it fell somewhat short of that. Instead he sounded tired and resigned, but at least he hadn't begged the boy to stay. Perhaps he would emerge from this nightmare with a modicum of dignity intact.

Then again, probably not. Potter looked at him with a face full of something a lot like sympathy, and Snape once again felt the urge to strike the boy. All he could do was let him go and hope that Albus would return him before hunger drove Hermione out of her room. That would be the best-case scenario. Of course, Snape couldn't remember the last time the best-case scenario was the one that actually played out in his life.

Harry stepped into the fireplace, announced his destination, and disappeared in a swirl of flame. Snape rubbed his temples and tried to remember if he'd brought a curative for headaches.

_________________________________________________

Albus Dumbledore looked up from his work when he heard a noise in his fireplace. His private Floo was only open now so that he could maintain contact with the cottage in Ireland, so he wasn't surprised when one of the cottage's three inhabitants stepped out of the fireplace. He didn't expect it to be Harry, however, and he rose quickly from his desk when he saw the boy stumble awkwardly into the centre of the room.

"Hello Harry," he said warmly, crossing over to touch Harry's shoulder lightly in greeting.

"Hello, sir." Harry gave Dumbledore a smile.

"How are you Harry? Better, I hope?"

"Yes, sir. I'm feeling a lot better. I think the potion you brought helped a lot." Harry looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry for yesterday, Professor. I know I wasn't much help to you."

"Perfectly understandable, under the circumstances," Dumbledore said gently. "We do need to talk, Harry, but it can wait a while longer, if you'd prefer."

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. I'd rather get it over with." He didn't tell Dumbledore why he was anxious to discharge this final responsibility. Of course, it wouldn't have surprised him at all if Dumbledore had just _known_. He usually did, after all. But in this case the older man just nodded his understanding and ushered Harry over to a chair, pressing a teacup into his hand. Harry sipped obediently and waited for Dumbledore to settle into his own seat and arrange his voluminous robes. He recalled with a sense of déjà vu the last time he and Dumbledore had spoken there; once again, Harry was dishevelled from his morning flight and inappropriately dressed, while the Headmaster appeared attired for coronation. Impossible, really, that the two of them had anything in common, let alone shared a bloodline. Snape had been right, he thought – Albus Dumbledore was an unattainable ideal. On the whole, Harry felt he probably had more in common with Tom Riddle, as repugnant as he found the thought.

Harry had requested the interview, but now that he had it, it wasn't quite certain where to begin, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took sips of his tea to busy his mouth and hands. 

Dumbledore surprised him with his first question. "So how are Miss Granger and Professor Snape faring?"

Harry looked up, startled, and saw the mischievous twinkle in Dumbledore's blue eyes. "Sir, is there anything you _don't _know?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "There are, unfortunately, many things I don't know. I'm not omniscient, Harry – just a good judge of human nature. It comes with practice and longevity."

Harry laughed. "I don't think I'll ever be as good at it as you are, sir, no matter how long I practice. But in this case…well, I guess it wasn't that hard to figure out, was it?"

"No, but it _was_ surprising," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I admit I didn't anticipate this particular complication when I allowed Miss Granger to assist with the search for you."

"And when you did figure it out, you were…all right with it?"

"I am reserving judgment on that until I have more facts at my disposal," Dumbledore said, more seriously now. "I have not yet felt that I needed to interfere. Miss Granger is a remarkably mature young woman, and I have the utmost faith in Professor Snape. Unless you feel differently, based on your time with them, I will stay out of it for the time being."

"Well…" Harry was uncomfortable, not knowing how much he should tell. "Uh…it might be best if you'd let them come back here."

"And why is that?"

"Things aren't exactly…comfortable right now." He gave Dumbledore a somewhat sheepish look. "It's one reason I came here, actually. Lunch today was so miserable that I couldn't face the idea of spending any more time with the both of them. Sure wasn't doing anything to cheer me up."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I don't blame you a bit, Harry. There are some situations that simply don't lend themselves to the presence of a third party. However, if there is awkwardness between them, they need to work that out one way or another before term begins. If I bring them back to Hogwarts, it will be too easy for them to avoid one another."

"So you're just going to _leave_ them there?" 

"I'll speak to Severus about it first, but yes, that's my current inclination." He smiled at Harry again. 

"You won't make _me_ go back, will you?" Harry asked, sounding like a little kid who wanted out of a distasteful chore.

"No," Dumbledore laughed. "You may stay here at Hogwarts, a safe distance from that bit of intrigue. However," the Headmaster sobered, "I will ask for your word that you will remain here and not leave the castle grounds. There is still much that we need to sort out, and we have not established that you are safe, even now, from the threat of Finbar's friends. In fact, I think it almost certain that you are not. You killed Voldemort, Harry, but Darkness still exists."

"Yes, sir," Harry said bitterly. "I figured that out for myself the night Sirius died."

"Of course. I don't mean to patronize you, but I do want to keep you safe. I can't have you endangering your life - or the lives of others - by running off again."

Harry's jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. Instead he nodded. "I came back because I know you need me to give my testimony to the Ministry, sir. I'm ready to do that, if you want me to."

"I more than want you to. I _need_ you to. I fear that if you don't…" he trailed off for a moment and then cleared his throat. "Well, for now, suffice it to say that your testimony in this matter is critical. But before you tell it to the Ministry, I'd like for you to tell me what happened, starting with the night you ran away. Why did you decide to leave us, Harry?"

Harry drained the last of his tea and then looked down at the cup in his hands. "Two reasons, really. When Sirius died, I realized that everyone around me was still in danger. I thought you'd all be…better off." He paused a moment, halfway expecting Dumbledore to argue with him, but the older man said nothing. "Also, I wanted to find out who did it. I wanted to make sure they were punished for what they'd done. That's why I let Pettigrew lead me to that house using Imperius. I followed his commands, thinking that whoever it was was probably involved in the whole mess somehow or another."

"A logical assumption, even if your tactics were terribly reckless." Dumbledore noted.

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. I suppose I know that now. But I killed Voldemort, and you had told me I had all these extraordinary powers. I just figured I'd be able to handle whoever it was."

"Your powers are useless to you - dangerous even - unless you train yourself to _think_ when using them." Dumbledore sounded uncommonly stern now, and Harry flushed under the Headmaster's disapproving look. "I thought I had made that clear when we discussed your independent study for this year. With great power comes great responsibility, Harry. You acted irresponsibly and almost paid a terrible price."

"This potion that Finbar was planning to give me…could it really have turned me into another Voldemort?" Harry practically whispered the question. He had tried not to think about the potion much, preferring to narrow his focus to his own suffering, his own feelings. He knew, however, that he didn't really have that luxury – had _never _had it - and that what had been planned for him could have affected the entire world. That had always been true, actually, ever since Voldemort had marked him as a baby, and maybe even before. It was so damned unfair…he wanted to be thinking about winning the next Quidditch match and what he wanted to do when he finished school. Instead, he was sitting there in his wrinkled T-shirt and grass-stained shorts appreciating his narrow escape from becoming the next Dark Lord. The thought would have been humorous had it not been so utterly horrifying. 

"I don't know for certain, Harry, but I think it likely that the potion would have done exactly what it was designed to do. Severus Snape and Neilus Finbar are two of Potions' most brilliant minds, and in an odd way, they collaborated on this particular effort. I think it safe to say that Finbar wouldn't have used the potion on you unless he was very sure of it's success."

"I'm glad they found me then," Harry said quietly. "I wouldn't have minded dying down there, but the thought of…_that_…" 

"It was a terrible plan, and one that could have had dire consequences for the entire world," Dumbledore said. "And yet, I am perhaps more disturbed to hear that you wouldn't have minded death. You are too young to feel that way, Harry. You have much happiness ahead of you."

Harry shrugged slightly. "Maybe."

"Time will prove me right on this," Dumbledore said, "but I won't press the issue just now. Let's get back to what happened on Arnold Street."

"Well, Pettigrew had been following me through the streets. I could hear his footsteps behind me the whole time. I waited until he ordered me into the house, and I pretended to start up the steps. When I turned, I shifted my bag so that I could get to my wand." Harry shrugged. 

"And that's when you cast the Cruciatus curse?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"Yes, sir." Harry thought about his conversation with Snape that morning, but he didn't feel comfortable admitting to Dumbledore how much he'd enjoyed watching Pettigrew suffer. Just as he had known, somehow, that Snape would understand, he knew with equal certainty that Dumbledore _wouldn't_, and he didn't want to see the look of disappointment on the Headmaster's face again.

"Did you know that it was Peter Pettigrew when you cast the curse?"

"No, sir. I just knew that whoever it was wouldn't have used Imperius to get me there unless he was up to no good." _I cast Cruciatus because I could_, he thought, too cowardly to say the words out loud to Dumbledore. _I did it because I knew I was more powerful than whoever was behind me, and I wanted to prove it. _That it had turned out to be Peter Pettigrew was simply an added bonus.

"And then what happened?"

"Finbar must have come out of the house and stunned me from behind. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in his basement."

"What happened in the basement, Harry? Did Finbar mistreat you - other than keeping you confined?"

He shook his head. "No, sir. Not really. I mean, he didn't actually _hurt _me, and he brought me plenty to eat and drink, if that's what you mean. I wished he would have let me out to…well, you know." Harry flushed a little, but Dumbledore remained perfectly grave. "Anyway, that was the worst part. Professor Snape said he was giving me potions to make me more depressed, and I suppose they might have worked, but it's not like I was exactly _happy_ before."

"No." Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully. "Harry, do you remember Hermione finding you? Do you remember anything about that day?"

"I don't remember her finding me, even though she said I woke up for a minute and said her name. I don't remember that at all. The first thing I remember is hearing her screaming. She was on the ground and…well, it was awful. It was just like with Voldemort - I cast the killing curse without really even meaning to. All I felt was the…hate." He said the last word softly, expecting a reaction from Dumbledore. He got none.

"Do you have any idea which curse hit Finbar first?"

"No, sir. None at all. It's an odd feeling casting Avada Kedavra without a wand – it leaves me kind of numb, I guess, and I was pretty much out of it anyway. I do know that I was a lot closer though. Professor Snape was still on the stairway, and Finbar, Hermione and I were all just right there together."

"Hmmm. What do you remember after that?"

"Nothing until Professor Snape flew me to your cottage. I remember being on the broom and how good the fresh air felt, and then that's it until the next morning. I remember everything from that point on."

"Hmmm," Dumbledore said again, and then sat in contemplative silence, sipping his tea occasionally. Contemplative silences always made Harry feel restless and inadequate, and he shifted in his chair and reached for his wand, tapping it against one leg and then hastily casting it aside when red sparks shot out with a small hiss.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Dumbledore gave Harry a half-smile. "My apologies, Harry. I was just trying to decide on the best course of action, based on the facts you given me. I think…it's regrettable, but I think it's the only way," he mused. "I am going to ask you to refrain – for now - from mentioning the fact that you cursed Finbar when you discuss this with the Ministry representatives."

"You want me to _lie_? Won't they administer Veritaserum or something?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "You've been listening to too many stories. No, they will be fully prepared to take you at your word without the use of Veritaserum. And no, I would not ask you to lie outright. I'm simply asking you to deflect as much attention as you can from Neilus Finbar's death and instead focus heavily on his mistreatment of you. I want that to be the central issue – that you were kidnapped by Finbar and mistreated at his hands. I want them to view the use of the Avada Kedavra curse as a just measure under the circumstances, regardless of who cast it. Professor Snape has asked specifically that your curse not be mentioned. For the moment, I am prepared to honour his request. I think you can honestly tell them that you were very confused and disoriented at the time, and I doubt they'll press the matter any further."

Harry nodded. It was true enough that he had been disoriented – completely addled was more like it. "When will we go?"

"I'll contact Cornelius Fudge this afternoon. I would prefer that he be there when you are deposed, so it will likely depend upon his schedule. I'll let you know as soon as I hear something. In the meantime, you will, as I said earlier, have to stay here at Hogwarts, for your own safety. I will see to it that Professor McGonagall readies your dormitory for you again. I believe Madam Hooch is anxious to continue your extra coaching."

"I left my Firebolt in Ireland," Harry said regretfully. 

"I'll get it for you," Dumbledore said, smiling. "I'm going to contact Miss Granger's parents and let them know that she is well and will be remaining in Ireland for a few more days, and then I'll Apparate there and give her and Severus the good news."

"Better you than me, sir," Harry said with feeling.

The Headmaster chuckled. "My pleasure, Harry. Now, if you have told me all that you have to tell, there is someone who is most anxious to see you."

Three minutes later, Remus Lupin came climbing through the fireplace. 

Harry's first inclination was to fling himself into Remus's arms like a child, but he took one look at him and stopped short, stricken by the older man's appearance. Even at a quick glance, Remus appeared to have aged years in the last week. He reminded Harry very much of the shabby, exhausted, and friendless man he had been when Harry had first met him on the Hogwarts Express. In the time since, Remus's work for the Order – difficult and dangerous though it was - had given him purpose and self-respect, and the years had seemed to fall away. Whatever volatility there was in his nature seemed to be expended in his monthly transformations, and for the rest of each month, he was the kindest and most gentle man Harry had ever known. Although Sirius had been Harry's official godfather, he saw Remus Lupin in much the same light, and that had not changed, in spite of Sirius's unfathomable choice of successors. 

Now, seeing the deep lines of worry and grief engraved in Remus's face, Harry felt for the first time the true magnitude of what he had done. He had left Remus to grieve for Sirius alone and had heaped on top of that a consuming fear for Harry's own safety. And he had done it without so much as a note or a single word of apology. Much too soon after his monthly transformation, when he should have been recuperating, Remus had been on his way to London to assist with the search, and the physical toll of the last week was apparent in his stiff carriage. If he had grown up with parents, Harry would have had more experience with the unique shame that is visited upon children who carelessly, selfishly worry their mother and father through their own recklessness. Instead, it was a relatively new feeling for him – and one he never wanted to experience again.

"I'm sorry, Remus," Harry said, forcing himself to meet Remus's sad eyes.

Remus sighed and shook his head. "I don't know whether to hug you or try to knock some sense into you."

"Um, hug?" Harry ventured, his green eyes begging for forgiveness.

"I hadn't intended to give you a vote," Remus said dryly, but he stepped forward and pulled Harry into his arms. "You scared me to death, Harry." Harry felt the tremor in Remus's voice run through his whole body, and he was horrified to pull away and see tears in the older man's eyes.

"I really am sorry," he said hoarsely, looking away, looking at anything but those tears. "It was stupid…I just was so…" What _had_ he been? He couldn't put the feelings into words now – the mingled fury and anguish that had sent him so recklessly away from the safety of the castle. 

"I understand," Remus said gently, and Harry realized that he really did – that beneath the placid surface roiled the capacity for a grief and anger that rivalled Harry's own. "But you're all I have left now, Harry. Promise me you'll never do anything like that again."

He wanted to.

Remus Lupin was the last of the Marauders and Harry's closest link to his parents. More than that, Remus loved Harry – loved him because he was the boy he was, not because he was the boy who lived, and not even because he had his father's unruly hair and his mother's green eyes. Just because he was Harry.

For that, Harry would have promised him almost anything. But as the silence stretched, he knew he couldn't promise Remus that he wouldn't run away again.

"I'm sorry," he said again, hoping it would suffice and knowing that, in the end, it wouldn't be enough.

Remus nodded, accepting that as an answer, but Harry knew he hadn't been fooled. 

§ § § §

It was mid-afternoon when Snape heard the soft clearing of a throat and looked up from the book he was reading to see Dumbledore standing before him holding some sort of a crate.

"Good afternoon, Severus," the Headmaster said cheerfully. 

"Albus."

"I've had a long talk with Harry, and I've decided that he should stay at Hogwarts. It will be necessary for him to talk to Fudge and some of the Ministry representatives to help us clear this matter up, and I'd like to do that as soon as possible."

"Fine," Snape said, snapping his book shut and standing up. "Then the Granger girl and I should come back too."

"No. I would prefer that you remain here in Ireland," Dumbledore said firmly. "My conversation with Harry convinced me that the cottage is the best place for you right now."

What the hell did _that_ mean? "Albus, I really think…"

"Severus, I ask you to please trust me on this. I have only your best interests at heart." 

"Thank you, Headmaster, but perhaps _I _should have some input into what is best for me and my interests."

"I'm afraid I must insist. You and Miss Granger will remain here." Dumbledore had the look on his face that said the discussion was closed. "Now don't look like that, Severus. It should only be for a day or two more. Three at the most. Look at it as a vacation."

"Albus, I have classes to teach in little more than a week, or have you forgotten that? I have work to do at Hogwarts."

"I will arrange for you to have someone to assist you in whatever needs to be done next week. I'll make sure you're ready when classes begin. In the meantime, you and Miss Granger enjoy yourselves. Oh, I spoke with her parents, and they asked me to bring her this." He handed Snape the crate. "Apparently he was miserable without her and determined to make everyone around him miserable as well."

Snape glanced into the crate and received a vicious hiss from the ginger-coloured feline contained therein. "Perfect. Now I'm babysitting _and_ pet sitting. You know, rumour has it I'm a highly qualified Potions Master. Not that you seem to care."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I have long known that your talents were many and varied, Severus. However, I feel sure Miss Granger will care for both herself and her cat, the owl can hunt and fend for itself, and you will be mostly at your leisure. I can think of no reason why your stay here should be terribly onerous…can you?"

The question was asked perfectly innocently - too innocently, in Snape's opinion - and he was reminded of why he hated conversations with Albus Dumbledore. If Potter had told the Headmaster…everything, why wasn't Albus discharging him instead of sequestering him with the girl? If he _hadn't_ told him everything, why was Albus looking at him with that infernal twinkle in his eyes and infusing his questions with his most innocent air? He needed his headache potion again.

"Of course not," he said finally. "However, if you ever plan to incarcerate me here again, I do wish you'd put in a dungeon with a suitable laboratory."

"A dungeon," Dumbledore mused. "You know, Severus, I'll give that some thought. I rather like the idea of the challenge."

Snape rolled his eyes, and Dumbledore bade him a cheerful farewell and Apparated to Hogwarts. 

A few seconds later, Snape jumped out of the way just in time as Harry's Firebolt came whistling through the room and was sucked into the Floo. 

"Damn you, Albus!" he swore, and then he paused for a few seconds, tensed and ready to dodge whatever else the Headmaster might have forgotten. 

Once he was sure Dumbledore wasn't going to summon any more of Potter's possessions, Snape turned his attention to the hissing, spitting animal in the crate, trying to decide what he should do about it. He knew what he would _like_ to do with it, but things with Hermione were difficult enough at the moment. Tossing her cat into a dark forest probably wouldn't do anything to ease the relationship. 

He reached for the clasp on the crate's door and heard a low growl from within, and the minute he had the door opened, the creature emerged in an orange streak, making straight for the stand of trees. He watched as the cat clawed his way up the tree next to Hedwig's perch, and settled, glaring first at Hedwig and then at Snape, his tail twitching furiously. As much as he hated to give Harry Potter credit for anything, at that moment Snape had to credit him with superior taste in pets. Hedwig was a beautiful, well behaved, and above all, _useful_ bird. This…_thing_…of Hermione's had none of those attributes to commend it. 

Well, at least if it was in a tree, it was out of his way. He settled back down to his book, refusing to be unnerved by the malice in the yellow eyes that seemed to be trained on him throughout the afternoon.

It was nearly suppertime when Hermione came down the stairs, her eyes scanning the room. "Where's Harry?" she blurted. There was an unmistakable edge of nervousness to her voice, but Snape wasn't sure if it was because she was worried Harry had run away again or because she had realized that they were alone together. 

He'd soon have his answer. "He has returned to Hogwarts for the time being. He spoke at some length with the Headmaster and will apparently be telling his story to several of the geniuses at the Ministry."

"Oh. Then why are we…?" She broke off when an orange blur hit her at the ankles and then clawed its way up her jeans and into her arms. "Crookshanks!" She hugged the vile creature to her, rubbing her cheek on the side of his face in greeting and then giving him long, firm strokes along his spine as he arched his back in pleasure and kneaded her with his front paws. The realization that he was envious of a cat burst into Snape's mind, followed quickly by the conviction that he had sunk as low as it was possible to sink. 

"How did he get here?" 

"Professor Dumbledore brought him several hours ago. Apparently we're to stay here another day or so, and your parents were eager to have that beast off their hands."

She smiled briefly at the last, gave Crookshanks another rub, and then lowered him gently to the ground, brushing the hair from her clothes. "Why do we have to stay here?"

She could have infused that question with the same degree of horror Snape had felt when he had asked the Headmaster that exact thing, but instead she sounded resigned – curious, but resigned. He was somehow grateful. "You may recall me telling you that when you are under the protection of Albus Dumbledore, you are there on his terms."

"Yes."

"Welcome to the club."

She thought about that and then nodded. She sat down on the sofa, across from where he was reading, and worried her bottom lip between her teeth again. He watched her, waiting for her to nerve herself to say whatever it was she was trying to say, and tried to repress the memory of what that bottom lip had felt like trapped between his own teeth…the sweet, small sounds of pleasure she had made…

"I know this is hard," she said finally, hesitantly. "And that it's my fault. I'll…I'll try to stay out of your way."

He wasn't sure if it was the expression of carefully constructed dignity on the girl's face, or if it was the absurd spasm of regret he felt at the idea of her keeping her distance, but instead of just nodding and accepting her suggestion like the sensible man he was, he stepped out of character, attempting some consolation. "I was…unnecessarily harsh last night, Miss Granger. I see no reason why we can't coexist here as we did before. There is no need for you to hide in your room."

"Yes there is," she said in a low voice, casting her eyes down. "Maybe not for you, but for me there is. Unless you'll Obliviate my memories."

__

Does she really want to forget? The thought attacked him and refused to let go. Did he? It was a sound suggestion, yet it didn't appeal in the slightest. "Do you want me to do that?" Even to his own ears, his voice sounded stiff, cold.

She looked at him then, and shook her head slowly. "No. It would make things easier now, but no. I want to remember."

He wanted to ask her why – why she would choose the awkwardness and embarrassment when he could take it away – but actually articulating such a thing was beyond him. The question must have shown on his face, however, or else she just wanted him to know, because she kept talking.

"I've never…ah, felt quite like that before," she said, a blush rising to her cheeks. She reached down and picked up Crookshanks, who had been winding in and out of her legs, and she seemed to gain confidence from the lapful of cat. Safety in numbers, perhaps. "How can I know if I ever will again?"

He closed his eyes briefly. "You will."

"I might," she said. "But if I'm ever to know for sure, I need to keep the memory of what happened with you as a sort of a benchmark. Does that make sense?"

He shook his head, completed confounded by the workings of the adolescent female mind. "None at all, I'm afraid."

She bit her lip again. "It doesn't seem as easy for me as it is for the other girls in my house. It's more complicated, somehow. They're satisfied just being entertained by the boys or complimented twenty times a day. They don't seem to want to be challenged at all or to be with someone they can have real conversations with. And the boys…they just don't interest me. They all blather on about Quidditch and things that just don't _matter_. These are supposed to be the best and brightest witches and wizards in the U.K. It doesn't exactly inspire a lot of hope, does it?"

Snape had had precisely the same thought at least three times a day ever since he'd started teaching, and he chuckled a little in spite of the awkwardness of the situation – or perhaps because of it. "Boys do grow up, Miss Granger. You probably would have found me equally dull when I was their age. You have the misfortune of being a good bit more mature than your peers at the moment, but that may not always be the case."

She shrugged. "Maybe not, but I don't know, do I? The only thing I do know is that you…" she broke off, the blush rising to her cheeks again. "Never mind. I think I've humiliated myself enough, don't you?"

"No," he assured her. "I told you already that I handled last night…badly. The situation was rather far out of my usual realm of experiences, I'm afraid, and I overreacted. I should be the one who is embarrassed."

"Are you?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

"Yes, among other things."

"What other things?" she asked, the look on her face challenging him.

"I think we've discussed this enough," he answered firmly. "I've told you that I don't think it's necessary for you to hide in your room. You may do whatever you wish with that information."

"May I ask you just one more question?"

"As long as you understand that I might not answer it."

"If you weren't my teacher…well, could you ever…?"

Snape looked away from the frank and hopeful expression on the girl's face and felt that all the Slytherin cunning in the world wasn't going to help him emerge victorious from this conversation. There was no right answer to what she was asking him. To tell the truth would be to give her false hopes, and to lie would hurt her, possibly even make her believe she was undesirable to men. How had he gotten into this mess?

"Even if I weren't your teacher," he began carefully, "that wouldn't change the fact that I'm twice your age and have a past that makes me fundamentally unsuitable for you."

"That wasn't what I was asking," she said, the edge to her voice betraying her irritation at his evasiveness. He should have known she was too bright to be diverted.

"Perhaps you should muster that Gryffindor bravery, then, and actually complete your sentence," he challenged, enjoying the feeling of baiting her again. "Then, perhaps, I could better address the topic at hand."

She muttered something that sounded like a slur on his parentage, and it was all he could do not to smile. "All right, Professor." Irritation was giving way to anger, and anger nerved her enough to call his bluff. "If you weren't my teacher and I was able to convince you that I don't care about your age or the fact that you were a Death Eater, do you think you could possibly be interested in me?" She asked the question more confidently this time, though the last bit did come out in something of a rush.

"That's a lot of _if's_, Miss Granger," he said sarcastically.

Her lips twitched. "You're hedging. It's a yes or no question."

"I should think that my response last night would have answered that question sufficiently," he said, irritated now.

"At the time, you led me to believe that your response was 'human' rather than 'interested.'"

"It was both."

His soft words seemed to knock them both off balance. She had won, finally, but she didn't seem quite sure of what to do with the victory. Previously faint sounds were amplified in the silence of the room, and they stared at one another, suddenly aware of Crookshanks' contented purr, Hedwig shifting on her perch, and the slight rustle of the leaves in the trees.

She stood up, causing Crookshanks to emit a _mrrrp_ of protest as she deposited him on the sofa. "In that case," she said slowly, taking a step toward him, "I'll simply remind you that I _don't _care how old you are, beyond being grateful that you act nothing like the boys I know. Nor do I hold you responsible for a decision you made when you were younger than I am now and have long since made up for anyway." She reached with tentative fingers and gently stroked the back of his hand. He tensed at the contact and felt gooseflesh break out from the hand to his shoulder, but once again, he couldn't make himself pull away, and he simply stared at her, mesmerized. "Furthermore, I will only be your student for a few more months, and I'm willing to wait." She withdrew her hand and stepped back. "The rest is up to you, Professor."

The spell was broken when she moved away from him, and he shifted restlessly in his chair. He leaned forward, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "If we're to continue this conversation," he snapped, "I'm going to have to insist, for the sake of my compartmentalization, that you _not_ call me _Professor_. My name is Severus. Do try to use it."

She smiled.

"Severus."

_________________________________________________

He had lost his mind. He was convinced of it. After years of teetering on the brink of mental instability, he had clearly cracked under the combined pressure of battling the dark forces of evil and droves of snivelling adolescents. He often had wondered which of the two pressures was the worst as he moved back and forth between them, desperately trying to maintain his tenuous grip on his sanity. The question had now been answered, and in the end, his mental health had survived Voldemort only to be destroyed by a teenaged girl. 

He'd always figured it would be Potter who would get him in the end, but if not him, it made sense that it was one of his friends. The girl had been nothing but an aggravation to him since he had first met her as an eleven-year-old child. 

An eleven-year-old. 

Child.

And he was…well, a hell of a lot older. And her teacher. That was just…wrong, wasn't it? 

Of course it was. 

__

But she's not eleven anymore, a little voice inside his head whispered - thus proving his insanity theory beyond any reasonable doubt. He was hearing voices, and if that wasn't evidence he didn't know what was. He wasn't surprised that he had finally cracked. He'd actually been expecting it for some time now; he just hadn't anticipated that his lunacy would take quite this form.

He could still take it back. Could threaten to take points for her temerity. Calling him by his first name…what made her think she had the right?

"Severus?"

Well, he _had _rather ordered her to, and there was a part of him – the part that had gone suddenly barmy, of course – that really liked the way his name sounded on her lips. 

Best not to think about her lips.

"Severus, what is it?" She looked worried now, a little crinkle forming between her eyes. He hadn't noticed that before… "You're just…_staring_ at me."

"This is…insane." There. He'd said it. Confessed his break with reality. The first step was admitting you had a problem, or that was what the Muggles always said. He didn't know what the rest of the steps were, but he figured he'd be learning them soon enough.

She smiled, and was that any way to respond to a heartfelt confession of mental illness? 

"What are you laughing at?" he snapped. 

"I'm not laughing, I'm smiling," she said, smiling some more. 

"Fine. What are you _smiling_ at?"

"You. You're back-pedalling already, aren't you?"

How did she do that? 

"One has to pedal _forward_ before there can be a need to pedal _back_, Miss Granger. Having not done the former, I can think of no reason to do the latter." 

"Call me Hermione."

"I don't think…"

"Call me _Hermione_," she insisted, looking a bit dangerous. "You did it last night."

"I…it seemed appropriate at the time, given our relative…positions."

"It _was _appropriate then, and it's appropriate now."

"I wonder if the Headmaster would agree." There. _That_ was sound reasoning.

"The Headmaster has called me by my first name before. He calls Harry by his first name all the time. I think it would be hypocritical of him to criticize you for doing it." She smiled again. That smile was really beginning to annoy him.

"Fine," he bit out. "_Hermione_, then. What I call you won't change the fact that this is insane."

"What _this_?" she asked. "All I want is the chance to get to know you better - not as my teacher but as a man…er, _person_."

"I _am_ your teacher. And even if I weren't, there are those other factors that you are so blithely ignoring. My age and my past may seem romantic to you now, but the day may come when that changes and they can't be ignored quite so easily. What then?"

"I don't know," she said simply. "I guess we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. _If _we come to it. But we'll never know unless we try, and I, for one, will always wonder if we don't. Won't you?"

He'd only _thought_ she irritated him before. Now she was taking "irritating" to a whole new level. _We'll never know unless we try_, indeed. It sounded like a child's nursery rhyme. It probably was one. And she was suggesting that they adopt it as some sort of motto. 

He really hated Gryffindors. 

"What do you want from me?" A properly Slytherin response. 

"High marks in Potions this year," she snapped. Apparently he was irritating her right back.

"I think we both know that you are assured of those." 

"Precisely," she said. "So why is it so hard to believe that I just…like you?"

"Total lack of precedent, for one thing. I am not likeable, Hermione, and I'm well aware of that fact. I suppose you think I'm going to shed my nasty old exterior and turn into prince charming the minute you kiss me."

"I kissed you last night, and I think it's safe to say that you have _not _turned into prince charming."

"Nor will I. You are looking at the real me. You've spent the last week with the real me. I am irritable and sarcastic…"

"And insulting and superior," she interrupted. "You're thoroughly unpleasant in the morning and only marginally better than that the rest of the day."

"All quite true." Finally, she was talking sense. Perhaps he was getting through to her after all. "So I repeat, what do you want from me?" 

She rolled her eyes and reached for his hand to pull him out of the chair. "Right now, I just want you to come eat dinner with me. I'm hungry."

It was hard to think properly with her hand tucked in his. His tragically broken mind rendered him incapable of making responsible decisions.

And besides, he was hungry too.

_________________________________________________

He was genuinely hungry. Their luncheon that day had been stressful, and he had not eaten much. The afternoon had been equally stressful. So now he was hungry, and the logical thing to do when one was hungry was to eat. 

Yet she seemed to think the fact that he accompanied her to the table was some sort of sign that he had made the odyssey from "this is insane" to "we'll never know unless we try." Which was ludicrous. 

Granted, he might have misled her by holding on to her hand longer than was strictly necessary after she'd pulled him from the chair. Holding it, in fact, all the way across the room, until they reached the table and holding it any longer would have been just…silly. Or _sillier_, since the sight of Severus Snape holding hands with anyone for _any _length of time would have been enough to send the entire House of Slytherin into pants-wetting hysterics.

He released her hand and reached for his wand, summoning their dinner, and they sat down together as they had at every other meal for the past week. It wasn't comfortable, exactly, but he had to admit that it was an improvement over their midday meal. Hermione smiled a lot more, for one thing, and laughed, and he laughed a bit more than usual as well. She seemed to feel that something had been settled between them. He cast his mind back and couldn't figure out when, precisely, that had taken place, but she seemed sure of herself. She had shed her previous embarrassment completely and now seemed bent on finding out more about him, an exercise he intended to avoid.

"What were you like as a child?" she asked.

"Shorter." 

A simple quirk of one eyebrow seemed sufficient to address "what's your favourite colour?" and before she could get to "if you could have three wishes…" he deflected any further questions by asking her about her plans after she finished Hogwarts. They settled comfortably into that discussion, and before he quite realized it, he was telling her of his first years out of school – talking openly about his apprenticeship and his early service to Voldemort. 

Really. How did she do that?

That subject led to a discussion of Dark Magic, and he found her knowledge on the subject remarkable given his fellow staff members' reluctance to properly educate the students in that area. Of course, he knew she would have availed herself of every book in the Hogwarts library – and probably managed to lay hands on a few from other sources as well. She asked him if she could borrow some of his books when they got back, and he agreed without giving it a second thought. That, at least, was a straightforward request.

He had genuinely been hungry, but he didn't eat as much as he expected to, and he finally put down his fork and spoke the question that was foremost on his mind. "If we do this…insane thing…if we spend the next few days here…getting to know one another better," (a ridiculous euphemism but the best he could do under pressure) "are you prepared to go back to Hogwarts and face me at the front of the classroom as if nothing had happened?"

"I won't like it," she answered thoughtfully, "but yes, I would do it if you thought it necessary."

"It _would_ be necessary – for the sake of my position there and yours. It would be absolutely necessary. What's more, it would have to be more than just the _appearance_ of propriety. From the time we return to Hogwarts, we will be hated teacher and annoying student and nothing more."

"I never hated you," she said.

He lifted the eyebrow again. "You're a credit to your house, Miss…Hermione, but not for your skills at prevarication. And if you're waiting for me to say that you never annoyed me, you're in for a long wait."

She laughed. "No, I wasn't expecting you to say that," She paused and then went on more seriously. "I told you I was willing to wait, and I am. I don't want to do anything to jeopardize your job."

"I don't care a fig for my job. I've already told you that. But I do care what Dumbledore thinks of me, and there are certain lines I won't cross - for his sake, if not for my own. What's more, I have to consider your position as Head Girl. You've earned that honour. I'll not have you risk it now, on my account."

"That's fine," she said. "But after I've finished school…"

"Let's…wait and see," he said, interrupting. "Two days alone with me may cure you of this bizarre impulse."

She laughed and reached for his hand, tucking her fingers under his and skimming his knuckles gently with her thumb. "I doubt that, Severus."

Stubborn girl. Annoying, persistent, bossy, _stubborn_ girl. 

"Do you want to go sit outside?" she asked, sounding a little shy now.

Again, that hand touching his…

"Very well." He'd meant that to sound like long-suffering indulgence. As if he were doing her a favour. It was a clear miss, even to his own ears. 

She squeezed his hand gently before scooting back her chair and rising from the table, and then she smiled as she waited for him to accompany her. 

Insane…but not unpleasant. 

_________________________________________________

He was glad, when he stepped through the doorway, that she had suggested going outside. Not because of the fresh air or the stars hanging brightly in the sky or any other such ridiculous thing, but because on this night, the moon was the barest sliver, and the darkness enveloped them as they moved away from the cottage. He had spent his entire adult life hiding in shadows, and he knew that there was freedom in darkness. Unguarded expressions would go unnoticed, and given his current mental state, that could only be a good thing. 

Once he was out there, however, he could hardly shrink into the shadows. She was expecting…something. Something more from him. And he didn't have the first damn clue what to do. His experiences with women ran to single carnal encounters in which he was not expected to play the part of the tender suitor. "Severus Snape" and "tender suitor" didn't even belong in the same sentence, but neither did "single carnal encounter" and "Hermione Granger" – of this he was certain. 

But apparently she was willing to be his guide in this journey into the unknown. She led him over to the same spot on the grass she had occupied several nights before, when he had sat on the patio, a safe distance away, and allowed himself to be drawn into conversation. Part of him craved that safe distance again, but he didn't indulge it. Instead he lowered himself to the ground and, after a moment's hesitation, he reached for her, pulling her against his chest and folding his body around hers. He felt her relax against him, tucking her head into the niche between his neck and his shoulder as together they enjoyed the synthetic peace of Dumbledore's enchanted retreat. The forest loomed in twisted shadow around them, its dangers and the threat of the larger world beyond kept at bay by a complex web of magical barriers erected by a mighty hand. 

But best of all, it was dark. No one would see. 

No one would ever know that the feared Hogwarts potions master was wrapped around the school's Head Girl, allowing the hard lines of his body to relax into the rare contact with soft warmth. Her hair was…incredible. So different from the limp mess with which he had been cursed. He fingered the heavy strands, twining curls around his long fingers and then releasing them again. It kept his hands busy as he adjusted to the sensory barrage caused by her proximity. How long had it been since anyone had been this close? Close enough to touch, close enough to hear the barest murmur, close enough to breathe in his scent, and he hers, until there was no difference between them. He couldn't even remember. They sat in silence, mostly. She didn't seem inclined to talk anymore; for the first time in their acquaintance she wasn't asking any questions, and for this he was grateful. He preferred to humiliate himself one way at a time, rather than all at once, and he was relishing this particular brand of humiliation very much. 

No one would see.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed outside, but eventually, the air grew cooler and the ground grew harder and he began to think she must be uncomfortable. He helped her rise and they both stretched stiff legs, and this time it was he who reached for her hand, reluctant to relinquish all contact. He walked with her inside, to the window that opened onto the staircase to her room, and he paused, her hand still clasped in his.

__

We'll never know unless we try.

Not a bad motto, really.

As his lips found hers, he thought it was the sanest thing he'd done in a long time.

_________________________________________________

He kissed her goodnight. 

It was all she could think of as she readied herself for bed. As she brushed her teeth, she noticed that her face in the mirror was positively luminous, but this time it seemed an accurate reflection rather than a charmed one. She _felt _beautiful – more beautiful than she'd ever felt in her life, and it was because only a few moments before, his long, elegant fingers had reached beneath her chin, had stroked her jaw lightly with his thumb and forefinger, and had tipped her face up to his. She had felt a soft puff of breath caress her face and then warm lips settled on hers, leisurely renewing their acquaintance from the night before. His tongue teased hers and then danced away, flirting rather than staking claim. She could tell that he deliberately held himself in check, and she let him set the pace, despite the fact that she wanted more – wanted everything – and knew now that he did too. His hands knit their way into her curls and he dragged his lips from her mouth, pressing them to her forehead briefly before stepping away.

"Goodnight, Hermione." His voice washed over her, every bit as sensual as his touch, and she felt it stir something deep in her middle before travelling down her legs to curl her toes. 

"Goodnight, Severus." They had talked that night. They had talked for hours, but it still amazed her that his name rolled so easily off her tongue. He'd had a point about compartmentalization. Professor Snape was her teacher. Severus was her…well, she wasn't sure what to call him yet, exactly, since 'boyfriend' sounded ridiculous and they weren't lovers. But Severus was something else entirely, and the more she learned about him, the more distinct he seemed from Professor Snape. 

She snuggled under the duvet and hugged the extra pillow close, much too excited to sleep. Severus. From the moment he had given her permission – well, _ordered_ her, really – to call him by his first name, the night had taken on a dreamlike quality. She was reluctant to sleep now because there was no way that her real dreams could compete.

Of course, the first part had been rather difficult. He'd still been…well, Snape-ish was the best way she could describe it, and had tried to argue, had tried to give her every single reason why they could never work. But she kept coming back to his admission. He was interested in her. He was attracted to her; even with her relatively limited experience, she had been in no doubt of _that_. Yes, there were obstacles, but wasn't that true in all relationships? She had let him talk, in that superior way he had, and then had quietly refuted his arguments with one of her own. What's the harm in trying? What's the harm in getting to know one another better and seeing if anything might come of it? 

It had come down to optimism versus pessimism, and for once in his life, Severus Snape had allowed optimism to triumph. She knew intuitively that they might never get another chance, so she agreed when he said that after their days of "getting to know one another" they would return to Hogwarts and be what they had been before. She would have agreed to anything he suggested.

They had eaten dinner together. There was no soft music and no candlelight, just the solarium as it had been at every other meal, but it felt romantic to Hermione. The awkwardness that had plagued their luncheon together was gone, replaced by a different kind of tension, something sweet and exciting that seemed to balance hopefulness and anticipation in equal measure. She picked at her food, too focussed on him to pay attention to what was on her plate. 

They covered many of the same subjects they had covered in other conversations – his classes for the autumn term, potions, her plans after finishing at Hogwarts, and even Dark Magic - only now there was a new freedom between them. A barrier had come down, and she was able to give voice to questions that had previously gone unasked. He answered – still acerbic, sarcastic, and often downright insulting - but he answered. He challenged her with questions that were sometimes academic and sometimes philosophical, and he permitted no mental indolence in her responses. With the clarity of hindsight, she realized how much she had longed to converse with someone like him. She loved Harry and had loved Ron dearly, but discussions with them irritated more often than they stimulated. With Severus, she felt an intellectual thrill that blended seamlessly with her intense physical awareness of him, the first time she'd ever felt this unified response of mind and body. 

She was humming with it now, and she buried her face in her pillow and squealed, giving in to a very Lavender-ish expression of joy. Had anyone been around to hear, she would have been mortified; Hermione Granger did _not_ squeal. Her pillow muffled the sound without censure, and she felt better for having gotten it out of her system. She wondered if she'd ever get to sleep that night.

After dinner they had sat outside in the quiet darkness, just as they had the night before they found Harry, only this time he joined her on the grass by the pond and reached for her, pulling her close and letting her lean back against his chest for support. The time for conversation seemed to have passed, and instead they sat mostly in silence, letting their bodies become accustomed to the feel of one another. His fingers had gone to her hair – she had noticed that he seemed to have a fascination with it – gently tangling themselves in the curls, sorting through them, and returning them to her shoulders piece by piece. It should have been relaxing, but it was impossible to relax in such close proximity to him. She was hyper-aware of every single point of joining – the warm chest pressed to her back, the firm thigh beneath her hand, the mouth that nearly drove her to distraction by mussing her hair, nuzzling her neck, and occasionally drifting close to her ear to murmur something to her. She was so affected by his body and the intensely provocative timbre of his voice that she had difficulty comprehending the content. She'd had to process his words as if they were in another language, forcing herself to translate 'sexy' into 'English' and then formulate an appropriate response. She thought, on the whole, that she'd probably come off sounding like an idiot, but he hadn't seemed to mind. Looking back on it, he'd been a bit distracted too.

And then he'd walked her inside and kissed her, and she could still feel the thrill of it singing through her veins. She hugged her pillow closer, part of her wanting to stay up all night, replaying the various scenes throughout the evening in her head and revelling in the shiny newness of it all. The other part of her wanted to go to sleep, to make the night pass faster so that it wouldn't seem so long before she saw him again. She had, probably, two whole days to have him to herself, and she wanted to make the most of them, to store up their time together so that it could fortify her and fuel her dreams in the long months to come. She had two days to get to know one of the most enigmatic men she'd ever met.

She planned to make every conversation count.


	20. Conversations

"Severus?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Why did you become a Death Eater?"

"I was young and stupid. All the cool kids were doing it."

"No - I really want to know."

"I just told you."

_________________________________________________

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"That cat is the most consistently unpleasant creature I've ever encountered in my life."

"Mr. Pot, meet Mr. Kettle."

_________________________________________________

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"That night we went to your house – where were your parents?"

"My father died when I was nine, and my mother remarried during my fifth year at Hogwarts. She and her husband moved to France, and she deeded the house to me then."

"Is your mother still in France?"

"Yes. They're happy there. I saw a lot of them during my apprenticeship, and now only see them about once a year. She doesn't have much contact with the wizarding world anymore."

"Why not?"

"Her husband is a Muggle."

"You're joking!"

"Of course I'm not joking. It was quite a scandal for a while."

"Does your mother know you were a Death Eater?"

"Probably, but she never asked. She pretends I developed a sudden preference for long sleeves."

_________________________________________________

"Severus?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you think your mother would like me?"

"Very much."

_________________________________________________

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"What would your parents think of me?"

"Er, would you like to eat out by the pond tonight?"

_________________________________________________

"Is this where it was?"

"More or less."

"And it just…disappeared, like Harry's scar?"

"It was a magical link to Voldemort, so when Voldemort was gone, there was nothing left for it to link to. It's one reason I was sure he'd come back after he disappeared the first time. The Mark faded, but it never disappeared."

"I'm glad it's gone for good then - for more reasons than one."

"I am too - don't _do_ that!"

"I'm sorry. Does it bother you for me to touch you there? Does it still hurt?" 

"No, it's just…"

"It's just what?"

"Never mind."

"Tell me."

"No. Let's change the subject."

"What…? Oh! You're _ticklish_, aren't you?"

"Don't be absurd."

"Fine. Then you won't mind if I do _this_…"

"_Hermione_! Don't ever, _ever_ do that again!"

"Severus Snape is ticklish! I can't wait to tell Harry."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Of course I'd _dare_. You don't scare me anymore."

"I really don't, do I? How utterly demoralising."

_________________________________________________

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Do we _have_ to go back to Hogwarts?"

"Of course."

"I don't want to."

"I don't either."

"Let's just stay here."

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you haven't finished school, and I'll not be seen with an ignorant witch."

_________________________________________________

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"There _is_ a potion that will permanently straighten your hair."

"Really?"

"Promise me you won't use it."

"All right."

_________________________________________________

"Would you wear a red shirt if I gave it to you?"

"Do _not _give me a red shirt."

"What about some other colour? Green maybe. Or bright yellow."

"I'd look like a canary. No.

"How about some blue jeans?"

"If I say yes, can we change the subject?"

"Of course."

"Maybe."

_________________________________________________

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you have anything personal in your rooms?"

"Why were you snooping in my rooms?"

"I wasn't snooping – I was just noticing."

"Semantics, Hermione."

"You're avoiding the question."

"Not very successfully, I'm afraid."

"Why are your rooms like a hotel? You've lived there for years, and it's just so empty."

"I have a few personal items in my bedside table. I take it you didn't _notice_ quite that far."

"No. But you're still avoiding the question."

"Very well, Hermione. I am not, by nature, very acquisitive, though I do have some things of sentimental value stored at my parents' home – the one you visited. I will be happy to show you my little collection of rubbish one day if it will restore your faith in my humanity. However, I dislike the idea of people going through my things, so I have taken care that my rooms at Hogwarts remain fairly impersonal."

"Ignoring the gross understatement, why on earth would anyone go through your rooms at Hogwarts?"

"In the event of my death, it would be necessary."

"Oh."

_________________________________________________

" So, is Professor McGonagall still your favourite teacher?"

"Well…"

"Answer carefully."

"Do you want my intellectual response or my hormonal one?"

"Hormonal, I suspect."

"Oh, you're the clear favourite then."

_________________________________________________

"So, who is your favourite student?"

"You are."

"Is that an intellectual response or an hormonal one?"

"Both."

_________________________________________________

"I've decided to resign my position at Hogwarts."

"Because of me?"

"Because of _me_. It's time I did something new. Something I actually enjoy."

"Well, if you're not my teacher, then…"

"I'll have to give Dumbledore some notice. I won't leave until the end of the upcoming term, and then you'll be busy preparing for N.E.W.T.'s. We should still wait."

"You're really beginning to irritate me."

"Just beginning? I thought I'd irritated you for years."

"Oh, you did. Then you stopped for a while. Now you're irritating me in a whole new way."

"Good. I have a reputation to maintain."

_________________________________________________

"So have you always hated Harry as much as you seemed to?"

"And then some."

"Do you hate him now?"

"No. Not now. But if he were here, I'd probably hate him."

"That's terrible!"

"What? Wanting to be alone with you?" 

"Oooh. Sneaky answer. The Sorting Hat knew what it was doing with you."

"I've heard that before."

_________________________________________________

"Severus."

"Yes?"

"Nothing. I just like being able to say your name."

"Hmm. Enjoy it while you can then."

"I know."

_________________________________________________

"Professor."

"Why did you call me that?"

"Just seeing if that still felt right. It doesn't."

"I'm not looking forward to saying 'Miss Granger' again either."

"Good. I'm not looking forward to hearing it."

_________________________________________________

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"So when _didn't _I irritate you?"

"Are you that concerned about your reputation?"

"Of course."

"Well, you rarely irritate me when you're kissing me."

"Hmm. No more kissing, then."

"Careful what you wish for."

_________________________________________________

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Professor Dumbledore knows about us?

"Of course. He probably knows what colour shirt you're wearing and exactly how much milk I put in my coffee this morning."

"That's a little creepy."

"It's a lot 'creepy'. But you get used to it after a time."

_________________________________________________

"So do you still think this is _insane_?"

"What?"

"_Us_, of course."

"Did I say that?"

"Several times."

"Hmm."

"So, you're glad we tried, right?"

"Why do I have the feeling this conversation is leading up to an 'I told you so'?"

"Because it is."

"Get it over with, then."

"Severus?"

"Yes, Hermione."

"I told you so."

"Yes, you did. Feel better now?"

"Immensely."

_________________________________________________

"Hermione?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Do we really have to leave tomorrow?"

"You said we did."

"Damn."

"What?"

"I'm always right."

"You could be wrong just this once. _I'd_ never tell."

_________________________________________________

"I'm going to hate this."

"I am too."

"I'm really not sure I can do it."

"You can."

"Are you sure we can't just…"

"No."

"I could borrow Harry's invisibility cloak."

"No."

"It's only a few months, right?"

"Only a few months."

"And then…?"

"And then everything."


	21. Time Running Out

Their time was up.

Their time was up, their bags were packed, and they were minutes away from their return to the real world. Snape was returning to Hogwarts, to his duties there, and Hermione was going home to her parents for a few days before the start of term. 

They hadn't slept at all the previous night. Sleep had seemed a waste of precious time, and so they had stayed up together, sometimes talking quietly, sometimes simply sitting together in the flame-lit room, absorbing the taste and scent and feel of one another so that looking back the night would seem a collage of sensory impressions. Legs tangled together with comfortable familiarity, his long, encased in black denim, hers smooth and bare beneath her shorts. Heads bent to one another, fitting into recently discovered niches. She spent an hour just holding his hand, examining it in minute detail, memorising the map of lines on his palm and the small scars and stains accumulated over the years of lab work, and then touching each of the fingertips to her lips. 

He had held her in his lap and rocked her like a child, just as he had the evening after they had rescued Harry, but this time, instead of relaxing into sleep, she had pulled his face down to hers and they had kissed until the need for more threatened to overtake them. He had pulled away then, caught his breath, and murmured, "Not yet." 

She growled her frustration. "Your self control begins to be a trifle insulting."

He laughed.

"Don't laugh at me," she pouted.

"Oh, I _will_ laugh, my dear. I'm condemning myself to months of sexual frustration, all for the sake of your sterling reputation. The least you can do is let me laugh about it."

"You're welcome to alleviate your frustration in a much more rewarding way," she said, batting her eyes at him teasingly.

"Wench."

This time, they both laughed.

It was as if their love were a potion that could be put into a phial and stoppered for safekeeping. They spent the night trying to collect every drop, fighting the sense that it was running through their fingers and spilling onto the floor. 

Too precious to waste.

It was nearly dawn when she finally said the words, feeling as though she simply couldn't step into the fireplace leaving them unsaid. 

"I love you."

"Hermione…"

"You don't have to say you love me too. I just wanted you to know…before we go back."

"Foolish girl," he said, pulling her close and burying his face in her hair. "Of course I love you." He paused, unsure of how to proceed, quite sure that a single misplaced word would lead to disaster. "But you're so young. It's too soon for you to be professing love to me or anyone else."

"I am certainly old enough to know how I feel."

"Perhaps, but you said yourself that you have few experiences to compare this with." He tilted her face toward him. "Don't make me any promises, Hermione. It's too soon yet for you to be sure about me. This could be a schoolgirl crush on the mean old Potions Master, and I don't want you to feel bound by that."

She drew back as if she'd been slapped. "How can you even suggest such a thing? You _know_ that's not what this is."

"I know that it's nothing like that for me," he argued. "But I have nearly forty years of experiences to compare it with. Our perspectives are different."

"You've spent most of your adult years in a dungeon, Severus, doing penance for a mistake you made when you were younger than I am."

"And because of that, I know that it's possible for adolescents to make bad decisions that affect the rest of their lives. I would not want to be your bad decision."

"How can you possibly equate being in love with you with serving Voldemort? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"It was not intended as a direct comparison," he said, sighing. "I knew I wouldn't get this right."

"Get _what_ right?" she demanded, glaring at him. "I love you, Severus; you say you love me. Why does that have to be so hard?"

"Because it is. You know that. It's hard because we're in different places in life right now, and you have a final year at Hogwarts to enjoy, and responsibilities as Head Girl, and N.E.W.T.'s to prepare for. I want you to enjoy this time in your life."

"I will," she promised, calming some and subsiding back into his arms. "But one of the things I'll enjoy most is knowing that you'll be waiting for me at the other end. I need to know that, Severus, to make this year bearable."

"I will be, but I'll not let you make me the same promise. You're free to change your mind about me, Hermione. Tomorrow, or the next day or the day after that. If you look up from your cauldron one day and wonder what on earth you were thinking, I'll understand."

She giggled. "That won't happen. It's far more likely that I'll give myself away completely by mooning over you for all the world to see."

"You won't. You're too smart for that." He pressed his lips gently to her forehead, and they seemed to keep going of their own volition, brushing against her temples, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and finally finding their destination in the softness of her lips. "Will you think me weak," he murmured between kisses, "if I confess that I sincerely hope you don't change your mind?"

"Mmmmm. Not at all. I was beginning to be a little hurt by all the openings you were giving me. It sounded as though you were hoping I'd desert you the first moment I had the chance."

"No. Never that." He pulled away then and smiled, a simple gesture the more precious for its rarity, which never failed to transform and soften his angular face and leave her slightly breathless in her appreciation. He ran the pad of his thumb gently over her lips.

"You can be annoyingly honourable," she teased, giving the thumb a playful bite. "For a mean old Potions Master."

"Well, one of us has to be. Who knew Hogwarts' Head Girl would prove to be a young woman of such loose moral fibre that she would involve herself with one of her teachers? It's fortunate that your grades are what they are, or I might question your motives."

"I don't have any motives," she promised. 

"I know that," he said, serious now, "but no one else will, so it's important that we appear as we ever were. I'll not have anyone saying anything against you."

"I promise. You've taught me a great deal over the last week, not the least of which was how to play a role convincingly. I will appear to detest the very sight of you."

He sighed and pulled her close. "I confess, my love, that I am not looking forward to that."

"It's your own fault for being so horrible over the years." She fit her head into its nook beneath his chin, inhaling the clean, masculine scent of him. "Severus?"

"Hmmm?"

"Call me that again, please."

She touched two fingertips to his Adam's apple and felt the slight vibration as he said the words. 

"My love."

_______________________________________

An hour later, the sun was up, and it was time to go. They had the feeling that there was nothing left to be said, or at least nothing that could be said in the span of a few minutes. There was a lifetime together to be lived, but that would have to wait, and so they contented themselves with a final kiss. Hermione clung to him as tears fell. He set her away from him, finally, and wiped the tears with gentle fingers. "Stop that," he chided. "Your parents will wonder."

"Sorry." She gained control with an unladylike sniff and forced a small smile. She reached for her bag and he handed her Crookshanks' crate. 

"Don't you dare leave this beast on my hands."

She laughed then, and her smile was the last thing he saw as she stepped into the fireplace and announced her destination. 

She was gone in a whirl of flame, and he gave into his feelings for a moment, sagging into the nearest chair. A moment later, he was picking himself up off the floor, violently cursing the chair and its master. With Hermione gone, the place was an enchanted nightmare again, and he couldn't wait to leave. He released Hedwig with instructions to return to the Hogwarts owlery, gathered his own things, and took the Floo to his chambers at Hogwarts. 

Back to the dungeon.

_______________________________________

After all that had gone before, it seemed so normal. Another year, another trip to Diagon Alley to purchase supplies for school. Harry would be starting the term, at least, biding his time until he was sure the situation over Neilus Finbar's death had been put to rest, and he and Hermione arranged to meet in Diagon Alley, as they had so many times before. The Headmaster had given his permission, as long as Harry went straight there and remained with Hermione the entire time, so the two friends had lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and then made their way together to Gringotts, as they usually did before doing their shopping. Harry left to go make a withdrawal from his vault while Hermione stood in line at the counter to exchange Muggle money for wizard's money. In light of the drastic changes they had gone through, there was something a bit comforting about the normalcy of the back-to-school routine. 

"Cassandra…Cassandra, is that you?" The words barely touched the edges of Hermione's consciousness, and she didn't look up until the voice got so close it couldn't be ignored. "Cassandra?" She glanced up then and saw Gregor King approaching.

__

Oh hell, she thought. It was fine to swear in one's thoughts, she decided, especially if someone she didn't want to see was calling her by a name that wasn't her own. 

"Hi Gregor," she said.

"You're still here! I figured you'd be back at school by now."

"No. I'm still here," she said faintly, wondering what on earth she should say.

"Your hair is different," he noticed. "I like it."

She ran a hand absently through the tangle of brown curls. Definitely different. "Er, thanks." She was simply scintillating today. Perhaps he would just get bored and leave. 

"Hermione!" She looked up instantly at that and saw Ginny Weasley waving at her from the doorway with Mrs Weasley close behind. _Oh, this was just getting better and better._ She arranged her face in a smile for her friend. Gregor was giving her a strange look, and she knew it was likely to get a whole lot stranger. Her cover was blown, as they said in the movies, and there was nothing to do but face it head-on.

She stepped out of line and embraced Ginny, noticing that she seemed thinner than she had the year before, nearly frail under her robes. Mrs Weasley was smiling, but there were dark circles under her eyes, and Hermione felt terrible that she hadn't done a better job of keeping in touch over the summer. 

"Hi Gin," she said. "It's great to see you."

"You too. I've missed you. It didn't seem right not having you and Harry at The Burrow this summer." Ginny's eyes were pools of grief and she made no effort to hide the pain in her voice.

"For us either," Hermione said, nodding and feeling tears prick her eyes. 

"Hermione, you and Harry are always welcome at The Burrow. I hope you know that," Molly Weasley told her sincerely. "You're like family to us, and we're so proud of both of you." Her voice broke for a second, but she steadied it. "I'm already working on your Christmas sweater. It has both of your initials on it this year. H.G. – Head Girl."

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that, so she did a little of both, giving Mrs Weasley a hug at the same time. 

"Is Harry here with you?" Ginny asked.

"Yes. He just went to make a withdrawal. He should be back soon."

"Well let's get our supplies together, shall we?"

"That'd be great, Gin. Why don't we meet up at Fortescue's for ice cream next and go from there?"

"OK, see you then." Ginny gave Gregor a curious glance, seeming to realize for the first time that a stranger had been standing and listening to the conversation, but she didn't appear to want an introduction, just moved off with her mother to go make a withdrawal from the Weasley vault.

Hermione turned to Gregor with an apologetic look. "So," he said coolly. "Hermione."

"Yes. Hermione Granger."

"Head Girl at Hogwarts."

"Yes."

"I've heard of you. You're the Mu-Muggle-born girl who was tight with Potter and the Weasley kid."

"You can say 'Mudblood' if you like," Hermione said caustically. "It's not like I haven't heard it before. And his name was _Ron_." 

"I'm sorry." He really looked as if he were sorry, though she wasn't sure if he was apologizing for almost calling her a Mudblood or for his insensitivity about Ron. She decided it didn't much matter. 

"So, am I not supposed to ask why you're attending dinner parties with your Potions professor, pretending to be his cousin?"

"I'd really much rather you didn't." She gave him a hopeful look.

He nodded, and she was surprised and terribly grateful that he was giving up so easily. "Well, Hermione Granger, it was nice to meet you – properly this time. Good luck at Hogwarts this year."

"Thanks, Gregor." She looked up and saw Harry approaching them and gave him a small wave. Harry's hair was dark again, and though he'd kept the new glasses and the earring, he looked more like himself.

"Is that Potter?" Gregor asked curiously.

She nodded. 

"Will you introduce me? I hear he's a hell of a seeker."

She looked at him carefully to see if he was joking, but he appeared utterly serious. She laughed. "Of course. Just don't ask me to listen to you two babble about Quidditch."

Harry walked up, and she made the introductions and then resumed her place in line as the two men talked Quidditch while Harry waited on her to finish up. She thought that she might well have fallen in love with Severus simply because he didn't talk about Quidditch every hour of the day. She made her exchange and went back to where Harry and Gregor were talking, Harry gesturing wildly and making swooping motions with his hands, just as he always did when he was discussing his favourite sport. 

"I saw Ginny and Mrs Weasley," she said, interrupting without apology. She'd learned it was the only way to bring Quidditch discussions to any kind of a timely halt. "We're supposed to meet them at Fortescue's."

"Better get going then," Harry said, taking the hint. "Gregor, it was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Harry." Gregor shook Harry's hand and then gave Hermione a parting smile. "Take care, Hermione."

"You, too."

§ § § §

Two days later found her sitting quietly next to Harry at the Gryffindor table during the Sorting. None of the other students were aware of what had happened that summer, but Harry was still rather withdrawn, and she hoped that her presence would protect him from too many questions. Fortunately, most of the Gryffindors seemed to attribute Harry's change in demeanour to Ron's death the previous spring – and indeed it was attributable to that, indirectly at least – and left both Hermione and him alone, for the most part. They clapped when the hat shouted "Gryffindor!" and attempted smiles at the timid first-years who came to join them at their table, many of them casting curious looks in Harry's direction. Hermione glanced at the Head Table several times and saw Severus glaring down at the proceedings like a malevolent force, beginning his act of intimidation from the first day of term, as he always did. He did not glance her way, and she hadn't expected that he would.

The next morning at breakfast, one of the school owls dropped a rolled parchment onto her plate. She recognized his handwriting on the outside, and glanced quickly at him before tucking it into her robes for later reading. He was looking at her this time, and she saw the hint of a smile around his dark eyes. 

It was enough.

She returned the look with a small nod and let her lips turn up with pleasure. She couldn't leave the Great Hall fast enough that morning, and she ate quickly and then hurried to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to read her note in private.

__

My dear Hermione,

I cannot stress to you how difficult it was to be in the same room with you last night, yet to be denied the pleasures of speaking to you, touching you, acknowledging you in any way. It was torture for me, and I want you to remember that throughout the course of this term, which I'm quite sure will be the longest I have ever been forced to endure. I think it will actually be easier to be parted completely than to be forced into living such a lie. Odd, that, since my whole life has been a lie for many years now; one would think I'd be accustomed to it. This is more painful, however. Before, only my life was at stake; now, your reputation, your happiness, and your hard-earned position of honour here at Hogwarts depend on my ability to treat you as I ever have. And I will.

I regret, however, that in doing what I must, I might well cause you pain. Today, you will face me from your customary seat in my own classroom, and I fully expect that you will raise your hand and offer up the answers that your classmates should know, but don't. I will snap at you and insult you and call you 'Miss Granger,' and Potter will stiffen and bluster and attempt to defend you. I will then threaten you with detention. When I do this, you will know that I am actually telling you how much I miss you, how much I wish I could give you detention and we could work quietly together in my laboratory or talk of our respective days. I won't actually give you detention, of course. I am quite sure that if I did it once, I would quickly become dependent on that time with you, and you would soon have so many detentions that the reputation of the Head Girl would be called into serious question. Furthermore, it would be impossible for me to be alone with you and adhere to the resolutions we made together. I believe that those resolutions were right and necessary, given our current situation, but that doesn't make them easy. I count on you, of course, to do your part and play your role as you know you must. I count on you also to make the most of this final year at Hogwarts, to enjoy your time with your studies, your professors, and your friends. Waste no time pining for me; I shall be waiting for you at the end, assuming you still want me, and we shall have the rest of our lives together. 

I consider myself the luckiest of men,

Severus

She waved her wand over the parchment, causing the ink to become invisible, and then she tucked it into the pocket of her robes. She took a deep and stabilizing breath. "I can do this," she said to herself. "I must do this." She had six years' experience in dreading Potions class, but she had never dreaded it as much as she did this day. She gathered up her books and headed to Transfiguration, where Professor McGonagall chastised her gently for her inattention, and she remembered Severus's words and forced herself to focus on her studies. "Only one more year," she told herself.

Double Potions was next, and Harry gave her a supportive look as they headed down to the dungeons. "Are you all right with this?" he asked.

"Not really, but I suppose I have to be. He's promised to treat us the same as always."

"Great," Harry said. "You'd think godsons and girlfriends would get a little bit of a break."

She giggled at that and then shushed him. 

"No one's listening. Was that owl you got at breakfast from him?"

"Yes." She didn't elaborate, and he knew better than to ask. He pushed open the door and held it for her to go ahead. Severus was at the front of the room, writing something on the board, and she took the opportunity to cast an admiring glance his way. She had become accustomed to seeing him in trousers and jeans, which accentuated his slim hips and long legs. He looked larger in his robes, more intimidating, and she felt him sliding back into the "teacher" compartment in her mind. It made their time together at the cottage seem slightly surreal. Before he could catch her looking at him, she lowered her eyes and began to set up her cauldron. Harry and the other chattering students did the same, and their Professor called the class to order in typical form.

"I know from prior experience that you've all spent the summer emptying your heads of every bit of useful information, and your other teachers will probably spend the next two weeks reviewing material you should have learned as a third-year. I refuse to waste my time in that way, so we will begin this morning with the Skele-gro potion on page 32 of your text. Who can tell me the proper medium for a Skele-gro potion?"

He cast dark eyes around the classroom but found no volunteers. "Well?" he sneered. "Did none of you bother to open your books this summer?" 

Hermione tentatively raised her hand. 

"Of course, Miss _Granger_. Our resident know-it-all and recently crowned Head Girl." His voice was like ice and she felt it freezing her heart, making it difficult to breathe. She couldn't do this – she just couldn't. The pain must have shown on her face because she saw the briefest flash of answering pain in his own dark eyes, and that split second was all she needed to recover and step into her role. 

"You asked a question, sir. I know the answer," she said, somehow managing to sound calm. "Why shouldn't I raise my hand?"

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch yourself, Miss Granger. Every other teacher in this school may be fawning over you, but I can assure you that I am not." 

Harry suffered a particularly violent fit of coughing just then, and Snape glared at him viciously before turning back to Hermione and speaking to her in the delicious voice that left her weak in the knees, no matter how unpleasant the content. "It wouldn't look good for the Head Girl to get detention on her first day back at school, Miss Granger, but I'm sorely tempted to make that your fate. You will avoid it only if you do, in fact, know the answer to my question."

Of course she did know it, but it would be so easy to give him the wrong answer and force him to give her detention after all. She considered that idea and then reluctantly discarded it, knowing that wasn't what he wanted her to do. "The proper medium for a Skele-gro potion is a simple saline solution, sir. You begin with that and then add…"

"That's enough!" he snapped. "When will you learn to simply answer the question that is asked rather than trying to teach the class? 

Harry glared at Snape and looked like he was going to say something, but Hermione placed a restraining hand on his arm, and Snape left them alone after that. Soon they were working as they always had, except that now Hermione partnered with Harry and whispered suggestions to Neville across the aisle. 

"Miss Granger." Snape's voice lashed out from the front of the room and she looked up, startled.

"Are you planning to take Mr Longbottom's Potions N.E.W.T?"

She flushed and cast her eyes down to her cauldron. "No, sir."

He said nothing else, and she looked up at him, waiting on the insults to herself and Neville that would normally come raining down. He met her eyes and said quietly, "Get back to work, Miss Granger."

"Yes, sir." She cast an apologetic look at Neville and did as her Professor had suggested, though she could tell that Harry was seething. "It's fine," she whispered under her breath. "I promise. I'll explain later."

"Slimy git," he hissed back.

When the double period was finally over, she and Harry left together without looking back at their teacher. As soon as they were out of earshot of the other students, Harry exploded. "How can he treat you like that? How can you stand it? How can you stand _him_?"

"Would you calm down?" she asked, giggling at his reaction. Suddenly the whole experience seemed quite funny to her though she couldn't possibly have said why.

"No!" he said. "I won't. Listen, I'm stuck with him in a way because Sirius was crazy enough to make him my godfather – and I still don't pretend to understand _that _– but you have a choice, Hermione, and I think you should stay the hell away from him."

"I'm going to," she said, "until the very second I leave here, and then I'm going to run straight into his arms. I love him, Harry, and he loves me."

"Has he actually told you that?" Harry demanded.

"Of course. And even if he hadn't there would be no question in my mind," she said. "What happened in the classroom wasn't as bad as it seemed. He…planned it, in a way."

"What d'you mean?"

She blushed. "I'm not sure I can tell you this," she said. "It's a bit personal, you know?"

"Try me."

"It's easier to show you than to tell you," she said, pulling the parchment out of her pocket and spelling it to make the ink visible again. "Don't you dare tell him I showed you this."

Harry took the parchment from her hand and unrolled it carefully, sitting down on a nearby bench to read it. "Wow," he said weakly, when he had come to the end. "That's just…wow."

"I thought so too," she said, smiling and putting it back in her pocket. "You see why I wasn't upset over the threat of detention."

"What about the thing with Neville?" 

"He really _doesn't_ want me helping Neville so much," she admitted. "He says I'm not doing him a favour in the long run. I told him that Neville couldn't function properly around someone who terrorized him, and he promised to be less horrible if I would step back a bit and let Neville do his own work."

"So he's going to be nicer to Neville, but as awful as ever to you," Harry said, shaking his head. "This whole thing is very weird. You know that, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," she agreed with a laugh. "And I have the feeling it's going to get worse before it gets better."

Despite the fact that she had always shunned Divination, Hermione was not without her moments of prophesy.

_______________________________________

Severus had been surprised, upon returning to Hogwarts, to find that Dumbledore was not in residence. His colleagues seemed to know nothing beyond the fact that the Headmaster had business at the Ministry, so Severus had gone about preparing for start-of-term. It wasn't until the first day of classes were over that he managed to gain an audience with the Headmaster. He handed Dumbledore a roll of parchment and then settled into his customary chair in front of the desk.

"And what is this?" Dumbledore asked with a smile.

"You mean you don't know?" Severus asked sarcastically. "Whatever has happened to the famed Albus Dumbledore omniscience?"

"Actually, I _could _hazard a guess," the old man replied, eyes twinkling. "But I think I'd rather discuss this with you than read about it." 

"It is my resignation, effective the end of this term. That should give both of us plenty of time to make other arrangements."

"Severus…" Dumbledore took a rare moment to pause and gather his thoughts. He'd had so few opportunities to discuss personal matters with Severus Snape that he thought it would pay to take special care lest the man take it in his head to flee and avoid the discussion entirely. "You know that I cannot condone a romantic relationship between a pupil and a staff member. The Board of Governors simply forbids it, and in principle I agree, though privately I will confess myself delighted for the both of you. But Miss Granger is in seventh-year, after all, and we're only asking you to wait a few months. Do you not think you could see your way clear to…?"

Severus shook his head. "No, Albus, you don't understand. I'm not leaving because of the Board, or you, or any school rules. I'm not even leaving because of Hermione - though you are correct in your assumptions about the – ah – nature of my feelings for her."

"It would be difficult to miss, Severus, to anyone who knows you."

"That would be a very short list, wouldn't it, Albus?"

"I suppose it would, at that," the headmaster agreed with a wry smile. "Well then, Severus, I suppose I shall have to relinquish my reputation for omniscience and ask you outright what has prompted this decision. It goes without saying, I hope, that I will do anything I can to change your mind."

"I don't think you'll succeed, Albus," Severus answered, and this time it was his turn to smile. "The truth, which I suspect you've known all along, is that I _loathe_ teaching. We both know why I've stayed here for so long, and it's had nothing whatever to do with my love of building young minds and shaping the future generations."

Dumbledore looked on his Potions Master and started to laugh. The laugh built until he was removing his glasses and wiping his eyes. "You do present me with a challenge, Severus," he said finally. "I was prepared to offer you practically anything to get you to stay, up to and including the Dark Arts assignment, but I _would_ be somewhat hard-pressed to offer you a teaching position that didn't involve _teaching_." He chuckled again.

"I don't expect it," Severus answered sincerely. "You have done enough for me over the years. It's thanks to you that I have any chance of a life at all. But Hermione – and Potter, blast the boy – made me realize that I'm not actually _living_ that life. I've stayed buried in the dungeons for years now, doing a job I hate, surrounded by students who irritate me endlessly and colleagues whose temperament is generally unsuited to my own. There was a reason for such behaviour at one time, but that reason is gone now. It's time for me to go."

He noticed that Dumbledore looked vaguely troubled but chose to ignore it, and the expression passed. The Headmaster's voice seemed perfectly normal when he asked, "What do you plan to do?"

"Research," he answered with a small sigh of satisfaction. "Now that the Dark Mark has disappeared, I should have no trouble getting hired by one of the large potion-developing companies. I will, of course, continue to be available to take on…assignments, if you have need of me."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I think perhaps it's time you left that life behind as well, Severus, particularly in light of recent events. You have served the Order bravely for many years now. Make a clean break if you can, my friend. Let the Aurors do their jobs without you."

Severus shook his head. "You forget," he said sarcastically, withdrawing the coin from his pocket and holding it up. "I've been saddled with Harry Potter, and he requires his own private Auror. I will probably spend the rest of my life rescuing him from one act of stupidity after another."

"Everyone grows up, Severus." Dumbledore laughed. "I doubt that Harry will be a drain on your time and energies forever, but I'm glad that you've decided to maintain a relationship with the boy. I think you're good for him, and he for you."

"Unless I can convince you to take this damned coin off my hands, I suppose I'm stuck with him," Severus groused, but Dumbledore only smiled and changed the subject.

"Tell me about Miss Granger."

Severus resisted the urge to squirm in his seat under Dumbledore's probing eyes. "I thought I already had."

"Are you in love with her?"

"Yes." No equivocation. 

"Is she in love with you?"

"She…believes that she is, but she is young yet, and I want her to be sure. We will wait until she leaves here to pursue any sort of relationship. I'll be a teacher at this school for a few more months, and even without the Board's disapproval, I wouldn't want do anything to bring disgrace on her. Besides which," his face twisted in a sarcastic smile, "Minerva would probably turn me into a newt if I laid a finger on her beloved Head Girl."

"You're probably right." Dumbledore chuckled. "She's a lovely young woman, Severus, and brilliant, of course, which I suspect is the main attraction for you. The difference in you is…remarkable. I wouldn't have believed it possible."

Severus did squirm then – he couldn't help it. "Albus, please."

Dumbledore smiled but changed the subject, and a minute later, Severus wished he was squirming again. "I'm delighted for you, Severus, and I have every hope that you will be able to pursue your plans with no difficulties, but there are some things you should know."

Severus felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck at the Headmaster's deceptively mild tone. He had known the man too many years to be fooled and had a strong sense that his life was about to be snatched out from under his feet. Again. "Yes?"

"I was able to cover up Lucius Malfoy's death. There were no witnesses, in that case, and nothing to connect you with the scene. We've not been so lucky this time. I knew when I asked you to stay at the cottage that you and Miss Granger had some things you needed to work out, but that's not the only reason I asked you to remain in Ireland. Magical Law Enforcement wants to question you."

"Fine. I have nothing to hide."

"Take care, Severus," Dumbledore cautioned. "Horatio Barter was involved in this from practically the moment Finbar died, which suggests to me that he was actually involved well before that. He seems determined to see that you pay for your part in this matter, and I believe that he also suspects you in Malfoy's death. If they administer Veritaserum, you could confess to a great deal more than you intend to. Barter has friends over in Magical Law Enforcement, and he's been talking to them. They're suggesting that you've become a dangerous vigilante."

"I suppose they have a point," he said coldly.

Dumbledore sighed. "Severus, no man could have served the Order more selflessly or more bravely than you have over the years, and I regret that your contribution has required, by its very nature, that it largely go unrecognised. I hope you know, however, that my failure to laud you publicly stems from my desire to protect you, not from any shame or disappointment I have in the decisions you have made. I have always trusted you to make the right choices and have supported you in every way I could. I do _not _think of you as a dangerous vigilante, and I will defend you from that charge at the top of my lungs. You say that you had no choice with Lucius Malfoy but to kill or be killed. I, for one, am glad you chose the former."

"I would make that choice again," Severus said dryly. "However, in hindsight, I might choose to have a witness present."

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humour over this. With any luck, we won't have to deal with Malfoy at all."

"Which still leaves us with Neilus Finbar."

"Yes." Dumbledore reached for a piece of candy and popped it in his mouth. "There is one other possibility…"

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Am I to guess?"

Dumbledore responded with one word, formed somewhat ridiculously around a mouthful of lemon drop. "Harry."

"_No_, Albus. Leave the boy out of it."

"Severus," Dumbledore paused to munch and swallow the candy, "Harry _can't _be left out of it. He's wanted for questioning too. I said that I don't want him interviewed until Fudge can be present, which means that we've had to postpone the meeting until next week. He will have to give his testimony about cursing Peter Pettigrew, the kidnapping, and his incarceration in Ireland. If he testifies that he cast a killing curse…" 

"Albus..."

"Hear me out, Severus." Dumbledore held up a hand. "When I talked to Harry last week, we discussed the fact that you didn't want him to admit to the curse. At the time, I supported you in that decision and thought that he could just gloss over that part of his testimony, focussing instead on his mistreatment and his confusion at the time, which was apparently quite profound. Harry told me that he regained consciousness when he heard Miss Granger screaming and cast the curse unintentionally, just as he did with Voldemort. We really must discuss his independent study, by the way, and see that he gets that particular ability under control."

"I would have to agree, especially since I'm the person around here most likely to make him angry."

Dumbledore gave him a slight smile. "If he hasn't cursed you by now, I suspect you're safe. You're certainly no threat to harm Miss Granger. But Neilus was, and you and I both know that there's a very good chance that Harry is the one who killed him. He was closer, and his powers…well, they're exceptional, as the events of last spring taught us." Dumbledore leaned forward, his gaze intent. "Harry is a hero, Severus, and there's ample evidence that he was kidnapped and mistreated by Neilus Finbar. If he testifies that _his_ curse was the killing curse, I doubt very much that he'll be prosecuted."

"You _doubt_? And that's enough for you?"

"At the moment, I like my chances of keeping him out of Azkaban far better than my chances of keeping _you_ out."

Severus clenched his jaw, feeling his pulse throbbing at his temples and a tense knot of panic writhing in his gut. He had lived under the protection of Albus Dumbledore for so long that he had come to assume that Albus would always make everything right. He had gone about his business, ordered his supplies, and prepared for the new term, never dreaming that there would be repercussions from his actions in Ireland. He had allowed himself to imagine a life of freedom and happiness, and now it seemed that the situation that had brought Hermione and him together might well be the same one that would tear them apart. 

He hated irony.

"I'm doing my best, Severus," Dumbledore said soothingly. "At the moment, I don't want you to be concerned. The delay in Harry's meeting with Fudge has bought us some time. I'm hoping to find some concrete evidence that ties Barter to Harry's kidnapping. I have friends at MLE too, and they're working on it right now. We might never convict him, but if we can scare him into backing off, I think we can make this all go away without having to put you _or_ Harry at risk."

"Barter is a cunning man and a formidable enemy," Severus said slowly. "If he's covered his tracks, I doubt you'll be able to find them."

Dumbledore looked at Severus over the rims of his glasses. "I'm a smart man, too. I'll tell you when it's time to worry."

__

Easy for you to say, Severus thought, but he merely nodded, wiped his palms on his robes, and tried to remember how happy he'd felt when he'd placed his resignation in Albus's hand. 

No. That feeling was gone.


	22. The Chambers of Justice

Chapter 21

__

The Chambers of Justice

Harry, Dumbledore, and Remus Lupin took the Floo from Dumbledore's office and emerged from a fireplace in a barren, echoing chamber far beneath the streets of London. There was simply nothing to the room except a fireplace and a small desk in one corner behind which a middle-aged witch was seated. Other than that, it was all putty-coloured walls and hard tile floor. 

"This is the Ministry?" Harry asked dubiously, glancing about.

"It's the apparition chamber," Dumbledore explained.

"Rather like a Muggle parking garage," Remus added. "The rest of the Ministry is shielded for security reasons. This is the only place you can enter or exit. Hello, Madam Stickler." He nodded in the direction of the desk.

"Mr. Lupin, Professor Dumbledore." The witch returned the greeting, eyeing Harry with obvious curiosity. "And you must be…"

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore finished for her, saying the words with a sort of finality that forbade further comment. "We've an appointment with Minister Fudge and Auror Davenport."

She glanced down at a sheet of parchment on the desk and made a checkmark with her quill. "Of course, Professor. Go right ahead." She waved her wand and caused an archway to open up in the blank wall, and Remus, Dumbledore, and Harry crossed the threshold into a long hallway that was only slightly less utilitarian than the apparition chamber had been. It reminded Harry of a Muggle hospital and even had something of the same smell. There was nothing more than a series of doors, each with a small plaque affixed to the outside indicating what went on within. There were other witches and wizards in the hall, some hurrying along and others stopping to chat with friends while juggling coffee cups and rolls of parchment. Almost everyone gave the newcomers a curious glance. Dumbledore was known to all, and in Dumbledore's company, Harry was instantly recognized, even without his scar.

Dumbledore nodded politely to everyone he saw, but he didn't stop to talk, instead leading the way through labyrinthine hallways to one marked "Magical Law Enforcement." 

"'S a good thing Professor Dumbledore is here," Harry muttered to Remus. "I'd need a four-point spell to get out of this place."

Remus chuckled. "I know what you mean. It _is_ rather confusing."

"This is it," Dumbledore said, pushing open a door with _Herculio Davenport, Senior Auror _written on the outside.

As Harry crossed the threshold, his was startled by the dramatic change from the drab hallway to the luxurious outer office of MLE's Senior Auror. It was sumptuous yet tasteful, decorated in deep maroons and greens, the kind of place that always made him realize belatedly that he had forgotten to wipe his feet. He swiped his hands against his robes, beginning to feel nervous for the first time since their arrival. He saw several comfortable chairs and wished he could sit down since he felt it would be easier to figure out what to do with his hands from a sitting position, and there would be less chance of him knocking over something expensive in the process. Dumbledore and Remus were still standing, however, so he continued to stand as well, finally tucking his hands into the pockets of his robes. He had expected MLE to resemble police stations he had seen on Muggle television. He wondered how long he would have to live in the wizarding world before he figured out once and for all that they did things on an entirely different scale. Of course, he supposed it was a moot point, as he was planning on leaving it soon anyway.

"Professor Dumbledore." A young witch stepped through a doorway and greeted the Headmaster with a smile. "How nice to see you again."

"And you, Miss Floss. Are you enjoying your work here at the Ministry?"

"Oh yes sir! Thank you." She maintained the smile – it made Harry's face ache to watch her – and gestured for them to follow her. "Auror Davenport is expecting you."

She ushered them through a second doorway and into the office of the Senior Auror. Harry dimly remembered seeing him at Hogwarts in the hours just after Voldemort's defeat, but he hadn't been officially introduced, and his memories of that time were so jumbled that he doubted it would have made an impression even if he had. Auror Davenport _did_ look like a character from television, Harry noted, burly and weathered with warm brown eyes that seemed incongruent under his shock of grey hair.

He rose and extended his hand to Dumbledore. "Good to see you, Albus."

"You, too, Herc. I appreciate your handling this matter yourself." The Auror made a dismissive gesture, and Dumbledore went on. "You remember Remus Lupin, don't you? Remus is here at Harry's request." Remus and Davenport shook hands. "And this, of course, is Harry."

"It's nice to meet you, Harry," Davenport said, and Harry was surprised and grateful that there was no undue amount of interest or admiration as the Auror shook his hand. He had also noted the man's willingness to shake hands with Remus - not everyone would - and decided that he liked Davenport very much. He had the air of a man who had seen it all and would be difficult to shock or awe, and he exuded a quiet sense of power that was reminiscent of Dumbledore's own. Harry wondered if he would ever attain that. The only time he thought he exuded anything at all impressive was when his life was being threatened. He was glad that he was able to summon the necessary courage and intelligence at those times, but he didn't particularly want to live every moment of his life that way.

"I would ask you to sit down, but they're all ready for us in the Hearing room, and I understand the Minister is on a tight schedule. We should probably get over there."

"That's fine," Dumbledore said. "I think we're all anxious to get this behind us."

Davenport nodded and turned to Harry. "Harry, we're going to be in the large hearing room - it's much like a Muggle courtroom - and you'll be in the witness seat and will be asked to swear a wizard's oath that your testimony is the truth. This is a private hearing, so the only other people there will be Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Lupin, Minister Fudge, our Magistrate, and me. I will ask you questions, but occasionally, Minister Fudge or the Magistrate may ask you to clarify a point. Just answer all of us as honestly as you can."

Harry swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

Davenport gave him a wink. "Don't worry, Harry. We're pretty sure you're one of the good guys. We just need to know what happened."

Harry nodded again and wished he dared a look at Dumbledore. The Headmaster had decided that Harry should admit to casting a wandless curse but maintained that he wanted the focus of Harry's testimony to be on his mistreatment and Finbar's obviously nefarious plans. He and Harry had spent several hours going over the story, but Harry still wasn't sure he had the verbal ability necessary to pull it off. In fact, rather than building his confidence, all the preparation had the opposite effect of making him feel unusually tongue-tied and confused. Dumbledore was asking Harry to administer the truth in precisely measured doses, when what he was accustomed to doing was spilling his guts and letting someone else mop up the mess. In his nervousness, he'd hardly slept the night before, and what little sleep he had gotten had been plagued with nightmares of saying and doing the wrong thing. He had been awakened before dawn by a dream in which he gave his testimony and was then immediately handed over to the dementors. 

Davenport led the way out of the office and down the hall to a set of double doors. He opened one of them and then waited as Harry, Dumbledore and Remus walked through.

The dim bench-lined room was familiar to Harry, and it took a moment of glancing around for him to remember why: Dumbledore's pensieve. He had sat in this room and watched young Barty Crouch be convicted and sent to Azkaban. The memory was linked in his mind to the other memories of the Triwizard Tournament and what he had come to view in hindsight as the end of his innocence about the seriousness of the dangers he faced. The room unsettled him, for that reason, and he wished he could have told his story back in the comfort of Davenport's office.

He'd barely had time to look around when Fudge came bearing down on them, ignoring Remus and Dumbledore in favour of putting a proprietary arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Harry my boy!" he exclaimed heartily. "Wonderful to see you again! Wish the circumstances could be different, of course, but I've no doubt we'll clear this matter right up. Terrible situation, isn't it? Terrible. No fault of yours, of course, none at all, but we want to make sure the ones who _are _guilty get what's coming to them. I'm sure we're all in agreement about _that_."

Harry felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle at the Minister's unctuous tone, and he recognized that behind the flattery he was being told what was expected of him that day. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Fudge that as far as he was concerned, the guilty parties had already gotten what was coming to them, but he clamped his mouth shut and just nodded. He edged closer to Remus, attempting to move out from under the weight of the Minister's arm. It worked, mostly because the Minister had no intention of coming into close contact with Remus Lupin. Fudge shifted away and nodded at Dumbledore.

"Albus."

"Cornelius. Thank you for being here today."

"And you, Albus," Fudge smiled at Dumbledore in a way that Harry didn't like at all. "In fact, we may have a few questions for you when we've finished with Harry."

"Of course, Cornelius. If you think I can help clear up this matter, I am most happy to do so."

"Are you ready to get started, Minister?" Davenport asked.

"Yes." He smiled at Harry again. "My schedule is rather tight, as you might imagine."

Davenport touched Harry's arm lightly and led him to the centre of the chamber and introduced him to the Magistrate, a surprisingly youthful looking wizard named Markus Glass, while Dumbledore, Remus, and Fudge settled on a nearby bench. Harry swore a wizard's oath to tell the truth, and as he sat down, he glanced in the direction of a quill that had been charmed to transcribe the session and was scratching away at a piece of parchment.

Instead of walking around in front of Harry, Davenport pulled up a chair and sat down just across from him, propping his elbows on his knees as if they were just having a casual conversation. Harry appreciated the attempt, but given his memories of the room, it was impossible not to feel as though he were about to be sentenced to Azkaban for a single misstep.

"Tell me about the night Sirius Black was murdered," Davenport began.

Harry told the tale again, beginning with McGonagall's summons and ending with his departure from Hogwarts in the early hours of the morning. Except for the soft scratching of the quill, the room was utterly silent as he spoke.

"Harry, what were you doing at Hogwarts to begin with?" Fudge asked. "I understood that you were to be spending the summer at your godfather's home in Hogsmeade."

"I was, but Professor Snape showed up one day and said that he'd heard of a plan to kidnap me. He and Sirius decided to move me to Hogwarts so that they could try to find whoever it was and stop them."

"Professor Snape."

"Yes, sir."

"And I understand that Professor Snape was also on hand the night Black died. Was alone in the room with him, in fact."

"Er, yes, sir."

"And why was that?"

"Professor Snape was the only one among us who had experience of the particular potion that killed Sirius Black," Dumbledore interjected. "He was able to make Sirius's last hours less painful than they might have been otherwise."

"Thank you, Albus," Fudge said, in a tone that said he was anything but thankful for the interruption. "But perhaps we should let Harry answer for himself."

"Professor Dumbledore is right, sir," Harry said with a small shrug. "The rest of us…well, it was hard being in there with him. We were glad that Professor Snape did what he did."

Fudge nodded. "I understand that before his death, Sirius Black made Professor Snape your godfather. Is that true?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any idea why?"

Harry shook his head. "None at all, sir. Sirius and Snape…" He flushed slightly and shot Dumbledore an apologetic look. "Er, Sirius and _Professor _Snape never got along all that well. It was a surprise."

"Are you and Professor Snape particularly close?"

"No," Harry said slowly, "but he's always looked out for me, I think, in his own way, and I…er, I guess I like him better now than I used to."

"Because he's your godfather?"

"No." Harry didn't say any more than that, and for a moment, Fudge looked like he wanted to press, but then he decided against it.

"Go ahead, Herc. I'm sorry to have interrupted."

Auror Davenport nodded at the Minister and resumed his questioning, getting Harry to describe his flight from Hogwarts and his attempts to hide in London. When they came to the part where Pettigrew had cast the Imperious Curse and led Harry to the house, Davenport leaned forward in his chair, increasing the feeling of intimacy between them. 

"I understand that you've been able to resist the Imperious Curse for quite some time," he said softly.

"Yes, sir. I was faking it with Pettigrew."

"Why?"

"At first I wasn't sure who had cast the curse. The pub was crowded, and it could have been anyone in there. So I let him lead me out of there and into the street. I wanted to see where he was going to take me. I wanted to find out who he was and what he was up to, but I wasn't going to let him lead me into that house, not knowing who or what was in there. I thought I could defend myself better out on the street, so I did."

"You defended yourself."

"Yes, sir."

"By casting the Cruciatus Curse."

"Yes, sir." Harry said the words clearly, making eye contact the entire time.

"You are aware, of course, that the Cruciatus Curse is an Unforgivable Curse under Wizard's Law."

"Yes, sir. But so is Imperious."

"Quite true," Davenport said. "So you felt that Cruciatus was your best means of defending yourself?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced at Dumbledore, whose face remained impassive. "I'm not sure I thought it through all that well," he admitted. 

"I think we can all appreciate the fact that your emotions might have gotten the better of you just then," Fudge said heartily. "You'd been through quite a bit, my boy, and if your judgment was a little off, well, I think an exception can probably be made."

Harry looked at Fudge in surprise, feeling a rush of embarrassment and anger as he realized that an exception was being made for him, once again, because of his celebrity. He wanted to hand that right back to Fudge, and had the consequences been anything less than time in Azkaban, he probably would have. He was repulsed by his own hypocrisy. He insisted to everyone who would listen that he wanted to be treated like a normal person, but when faced with consequences a normal person would be expected to face, he wore his fame like a suit of armour.

"Herc, if I may?" Dumbledore said politely.

"Certainly, Albus." Auror Davenport nodded at the Headmaster.

"We made Harry a member of the Order in his sixth year at Hogwarts. In doing that, we made him a warrior in the battle against the Dark and gave him tacit permission to do whatever he needed to do to fight that battle. The rules are different in times of war. I think we can all acknowledge that. Harry cast an Unforgivable when he killed Voldemort, and in doing so, he became a hero. Why is what he did on Arnold Street any different? Peter Pettigrew and Neilus Finbar were fighting on the opposite side of the war."

"Now see here, Albus," Fudge said. "I can go along with what you're saying about Pettigrew - we've been after him for some time now, but I don't know that he and Neilus Finbar are in the same league. Pettigrew was a known Death Eater."

"As was Finbar," Dumbledore said reasonably.

Fudge cleared his throat. "Well, now, as to that…obviously Finbar was guilty in this matter. No one is disputing that. But there's no evidence that he was working with Voldemort in the last years. There's not a shred of evidence that Finbar was a player in the recent war."

"I think there is plenty of circumstantial evidence to suggest that Neilus was a Death Eater," Dumbledore argued. "Beginning, of course, with the fact that he faked his own death during Voldemort's first reign. I can think of no legitimate reason for him to have done such a thing, can you?"

"I would have liked to have had the opportunity to ask him that very question," Fudge said nastily. "As it is, he is unable to testify, and the only concrete charge we can make against him is that he kidnapped Harry."

"And killed Pettigrew," Dumbledore added.

"And killed Pettigrew," Fudge agreed. "But I thought we had just agreed that killing Peter Pettigrew was an heroic act."

"It might have been heroic had the intent been to rid the world of a weak and dangerous man. Instead, the intent was to complete a potion that would have damaged Harry in the most dreadful way possible. I cannot call that an act of heroism, Cornelius." Dumbledore was looking thunderous, and Harry shrank back into his seat, wishing to be anywhere but where he was. The rest of his year was in History of Magic just about then, and for the first time in his life he longed to hear Professor Binns' droning voice. Anything was better than being trapped in the centre of the storm brewing between the Minister of Magic and the Headmaster of Hogwarts School.

"Minister," Davenport's reasonable voice inserted itself into the fray. "Perhaps we should let Harry finish telling his side of the story."

"Of course," Fudge said, giving the Headmaster a glance that said clearly that their conversation wasn't over.

"Harry, what happened after you cast the Cruciatus curse?" Davenport asked.

Harry gave Dumbledore another look and felt the panic rising again in light of Fudge's defence of Neilus Finbar. He could practically feel the dementors closing in on him. 

Carefully measured truth…

He resumed his narrative, telling of being stunned and taken to Finbar's basement prison. He dwelt heavily on his discomforts there, though at the time they hadn't bothered him overmuch, and tried to paint Finbar with the darkest possible strokes, a man who had deserved to die.

Days were indistinguishable from nights in his underground prison, so his time in captivity had been measured in terms of his captor's brief visits with blocks of dreary solitude in between. It was a story of hunger and damp and drug-induced sleep but not one of fear, particularly, and he found that he couldn't manufacture that emotion, even to help further Dumbledore's cause, whatever it might be. 

The room was utterly still and quiet as Harry told his tale, and Davenport rarely interrupted to clarify a point, preferring to let Harry tell his story in his own way. It was somewhat halting, and though Fudge and Davenport probably assumed it was because Harry was uncomfortable reliving the events, it was actually because he was trying to speak and self-edit at the same time. He resisted the urge to glance the Headmaster's way to see if his performance was satisfactory. He paused as he reached the point of the tale in which Hermione found her way into his prison.

"Some of this I don't actually remember," he admitted, keeping his eyes on Davenport. "I was kind of out of it by that time."

"We can get your friend in to testify if necessary, Harry," Davenport said gently. "Right now, just tell us what you actually remember."

"Well, Hermione says I woke up for a minute after I fell down the stairs. Apparently I knew she was there because I said her name, but I don't actually remember doing that. The first thing I remember was hearing her screaming. I woke up for real, then, and saw her lying on the ground just next to me. Finbar had his wand on her…torturing her with Cruciatus."

"Did you hear him cast the curse?" Davenport asked.

"No, sir. But it was obvious, wasn't it? She was screaming, and he had this look on his face…you could tell he was enjoying it." Harry felt a wave of revulsion at the memory of the look on Finbar's face and at the sudden realization that his face must have looked much the same way as he held his wand on Peter Pettigrew. The union of the two memories somehow mingled his love for Hermione and his hatred of Pettigrew, the latter tainting the former with its putrescence.

"And then what happened?" Davenport's soft voice jolted him back on track.

"And then…" Harry took a deep breath and spoke clearly into the echoing chamber. "And then I cast the killing curse."

"What?" Fudge's voice rang out as he sprang to his feet, his dark robes swirling around him. "What did you say?"

Harry swallowed hard and looked at Dumbledore, receiving a faint but reassuring nod. "I cast the killing curse, sir. Without my wand. Just like I did with Voldemort. I, uh, didn't really mean to. It just happened."

Fudge's eyes narrowed and he turned to Dumbledore. "Why am I just now hearing this, Albus?"

"Professor Snape preferred that that information be kept quiet. He wished to protect Harry. I was able to convince him that the truth must be told and assured him that I had all faith that the Ministry would recognize that Harry's act was one of self-defence."

The Minister's next words were low, spoken for Dumbledore's ears, and Harry could just barely make them out. "It seems to me that Harry's 'act' is less a defence of _self _than a defence of _Snape_. The boy admits he was confused and drugged. He's not capable of knowing whether he cast a wandless curse. Just exactly what are you on about here, Albus?"

Harry spoke up. "I remember it, sir. I _was_ confused about a lot that day, but not about that. I remember cursing Finbar. Hermione saw it too. You can ask her."

"Yes, _Hermione_," Fudge said. "There are some things I would ask her, starting with what she was doing there in the first place."

"She was there with my permission, assisting Professor Snape in his search for Harry," Dumbledore said, and though he kept his voice low, Harry could hear fearsome undercurrents that would have sent him running for cover had they been directed his way.

"Do you often allow seventh-year schoolgirls to travel alone with their male professors?" Fudge asked snidely. "House them in your own vacation cottage? If so, we may need to have a discussion about the way you run your school."

"I will be happy to have that discussion anytime you wish, Cornelius. However, the answer is, of course, _no_. These circumstances were entirely unusual. Miss Granger is our brightest student and an exceptionally mature young woman. She accompanied Professor Snape because she was desperate to be of some use in the search for Harry. He accepted her help very reluctantly at first and would not have had her along at all had he not been concerned that she would endanger herself by striking out on her own."

"Quite the paragon of virtue your Professor Snape," Fudge said. "I shall be most interested to see how virtuous he appears when he gives his own testimony."

"Professor Snape will be happy to give you a truthful account of his own actions in this matter," Dumbledore said shortly, "but since he's not here at the moment, and Harry is, perhaps we should let Harry finish his deposition."

Fudge gave Dumbledore a rather nasty smile. "Of course, Albus. Herc, go on."

Davenport looked unsettled for the first time that day, clearly surprised by Harry's admission and by the fireworks that had followed it. He cleared his throat and turned back to Harry. "Harry, you say that you remember casting the killing curse. Do you remember seeing Professor Snape cast a curse?" 

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. Casting _Avada Kedavra _without a wand leaves me feeling pretty strange. I don't remember much else about that day - just that I woke up and cast the curse, and then Hermione stopped screaming, and that's pretty much the last thing I remember."

"So you didn't see Professor Snape cast a curse at all?"

Harry looked surprised and his eyes flickered to Dumbledore before he answered. "Well, no," he said slowly, "but he said he did, and I don't know why he'd lie. And Hermione saw two flashes of green light at the same time, but she didn't know which curse landed first. It all just happened so fast…"

"I'm sure it was terribly confusing," Davenport said soothingly.

"Yes, indeed," Fudge said. "After an ordeal like that, I'm sure you were terribly impressionable." 

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, sir," Harry said, thinking that he knew only too well. "Are you saying I'm making this up?"

"No, not at all," Fudge said. "Just that maybe your memories aren't quite as reliable as you'd like to think they are. Understandable, of course, given all you'd been through. A terrible ordeal. Tell me, Harry, what happened after Professor Snape and Miss Granger rescued you from the basement?"

"They took me back to Professor Dumbledore's cottage for a day or so. I was…well, depressed, I guess, and Professor Dumbledore brought a potion that helped with that. When I felt up to talking, I returned to Hogwarts to tell Professor Dumbledore my story."

"So you were alone with Professor Snape for more than a day before you returned to Hogwarts."

"Not alone, no. Hermione was still there. I spent most of my time with her."

"Did you talk about what had happened in the basement during that time?"

"Just when Professor Dumbledore came for lunch that next day. Other than that, they talked of other things, and I mostly didn't talk at all."

"What other things did they talk about?" Fudge asked. 

"Really, Cornelius," Dumbledore protested, his irritation obvious. "Does that matter?"

"It certainly does," Fudge snapped, turning on Dumbledore with all pretence of civility gone. "It matters because it involves a man who was conducting an unauthorized missing persons investigation, a man who wore the Dark Mark up until a few months ago and who removed key evidence from both the Arnold Street house and from Finbar's house in Ireland. His wand was examined and was found to have cast the killing curse. I think his actions and conversations in the days just after that occurred have _everything_ to do with this investigation. You've always had a blind spot for Snape, Albus. You've allowed him far too much latitude. If, indeed, he is working on the side of the Light, he's overstepped his bounds by far in this case."

"There can be no question that Severus Snape has been working on the side of the Light for many years now, and everything he did in this case was done with my full knowledge and support. I sent him out to find Harry, and he found him, rescuing him from an evil man. He deserves an Order of Merlin and the profound thanks of the entire wizarding world."

"_You _sent him out," Fudge repeated, his eyes glittering in a way that Harry thought made him look less than completely sane. "You seem to have a fairly broad interpretation of your duties as headmaster, Albus." 

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles and looked at Fudge calmly. "Cornelius, perhaps we should continue this conversation alone. Are you quite finished with Harry?"

"Gladly, Albus," Fudge said, still seeming to shimmer with anger. "Harry, you may be excused. Herc, would you show Harry and Lupin here to the back room? Markus," he looked at the Magistrate, who had remained silent and impassive throughout the entire proceeding, "Thank you. I'd like to meet with you and Herc later to discuss how we plan to proceed with this investigation."

Remus stood up and made his way toward Harry, who rose unsteadily from his seat. He had the feeling that he had failed, that he had said everything all wrong and somehow caused the battle for supremacy that was currently brewing between Dumbledore and Fudge, arguably the two most powerful men in the wizarding world. Harry had walked in fearing the dementors, but now it appeared that those fears were naïve. He was Harry Potter, a hero, and heroes didn't go to Azkaban. He should have been pleased, but instead he was terrified as he realized that he was in the midst of something much more complicated than he had originally understood it to be. In a sudden flash of insight, he realized that Dumbledore, too, had been surprised by Fudge's resentment of the Headmaster's authority, and the knowledge that Albus Dumbledore had been caught unawares did absolutely nothing to soothe Harry's frazzled nerves.

He cast a final look back at Dumbledore and Fudge and then followed Remus and Davenport through a door in the back corner of the hearing room. With sickening clarity, he remembered watching young Barty Crouch disappear through that same door, screaming out his false claims of innocence and begging his father for mercy he didn't deserve.

The door led to a small antechamber with several chairs and a simple table. Davenport gestured toward the chairs. "Make yourselves comfortable while you wait," he said hospitably. "I need to return to my office now, but I thank you, Harry, for coming here today. I know that much of what you had to tell us must have been unpleasant to relive."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir, but, er…" He gave the Auror a pleading look. "You _did_ believe me, didn't you?"

Davenport nodded once, quickly. "Of course."

"You can administer Veritaserum if you want to," Harry persisted. "I'm telling the truth."

The Auror gave Harry a small smile. "I doubt that will be necessary, Harry. I'll be in touch if I have any more questions." He gave Remus a farewell glance and then disappeared through one of the several doors in the room.

As the door closed behind him, Harry and Remus looked at each other, for a moment neither of them having any idea what to say.

"That was…interesting," Remus said finally.

"Tell me the truth," Harry said, putting his face in his hands. "How badly did I mess up?"

Remus shook his head. "I don't think you did, Harry. I think…well, it looks to me like Albus misjudged Fudge on this." He sounded slightly bewildered, and Harry understood because he felt the same way. Neither of them were used to a world in which Albus Dumbledore made mistakes. It felt like blasphemy to even suggest such a thing.

"But what is Fudge after?" Harry asked. "Do you think he's a Death Eater too?"

Remus's eyes narrowed as he considered Harry's question. "No," he said slowly. "I don't really think he is. I could be wrong, of course, but I think this is more about him resenting the fact that Albus took the leadership role in the war."

"He had his chance," Harry said hotly, "back when Voldemort first got his body back. Fudge wouldn't even believe that it had happened until people were already dying." 

"I know. And he's still trying to live that down. I think much of what we just saw was about him challenging Dumbledore's authority."

"If Dumbledore hadn't sent Snape after me, I'd still be in the bloody basement," Harry snapped. "Why can't Fudge see that?"

Remus sighed. "He probably can, Harry. But he's not about to admit it."

"What do you think is going to happen?"

"I don't know," Remus said, shaking his head. "Let's hope that Albus is able to smooth some of this over."

Harry stared at the door to the hearing room. "I know an eavesdropping charm," he said.

Remus chuckled. "So do I. I also know that if we use it, Albus will be sure to know. We'll wait."

Harry scraped back his chair. "Well, if I can't eavesdrop, I need to find a loo. Any ideas?"

Remus shrugged. "Never been back here before."

There were four doors leading into the room. One led back out to the hearing room, and one was the one that Herc Davenport had gone through. Harry chose one of the other two. "I'll try this one." He opened the door and gasped as the chill swept over him and he was confronted by the ghastly spectre of a dementor, which immediately began to glide toward him, scabby grey hands outstretched. Harry felt the familiar clammy sensation come upon him and heard the cacophony of torturous sounds in his head. He heard Ron's voice shout "Harry!" just as he had in the moment before he met his death in a roaring flash of green light. He heard Sirius's weakened deathbed whispers and Hermione's screams echoing through the dank basement of Finbar's house…and then his mother's cries as she begged for his own life to be spared. In his utter shock, he waited too long to reach for his wand, and by the time the thought occurred to him, he was too weak, already sinking to the ground, sensible thoughts of self defence driven out of his head by the sound of his mother's voice harmonizing with Hermione's, pleas for mercy blending with shrieks of pain.

He was on his knees when he saw a flash of silver and the cries began to subside. The door slammed shut and strong hands clutched at his shoulders, helping him up and smoothing the sweat from his brow. "Didn't expect…" he gasped.

"How could you?" Remus asked, and his reasonable voice was an anchor, something solid in the swirl of grey. Harry clung to it as he waited for his vision to clear, allowing Remus to lead him back to the table. "Sit. I don't have any chocolate, I'm afraid."

"What the hell?" Harry asked, when the table swam into view and he felt he could speak coherently again. "What was that thing doing here?"

"Guarding a prisoner, I expect," Remus said. "Sirius told me that they often bring dementors from Azkaban when they transport prisoners for trial."

"There was a man in there," Harry said, as the image he had seen as he'd opened the door suddenly locked into place in his mind. "He was asleep on a cot or something."

"Stunned," Remus said. 

"They keep prisoners stunned?"

"Until they go to trial, and then they're either released or taken back to Azkaban, depending on the outcome of the trial."

"Seems like Davenport could have warned us," Harry complained. "A dementor in the next room..."

"He obviously didn't expect us to go poking around," Remus said. "But I _would _think they'd at least lock the door."

Harry looked at his hands. They had stopped shaking, but he still had that clammy feeling down the back of his neck. He wished he had some chocolate to speed the recovery process.

"Do you still need to go to the loo?" Remus asked.

Harry gave him a sickly smile. "I didn't wet myself, if that's what you're asking."

Remus chuckled. "No. I was just going to offer to be the one to see what's behind door number four."

"S'okay," Harry said. "I think I'll just wait."

They sat quietly, letting Harry gather his strength, until the door opened and Dumbledore appeared. The Headmaster was alone, Fudge having returned to his office, and he spoke pleasantly to Harry and Remus. "Thank you for waiting. I believe we're done here. Shall we return to Hogwarts?"

Harry and Remus exchanged a glance. "Albus," Remus said, "Is everything all right?"

"I'm afraid I can't say at the moment, Remus," the Headmaster replied, and Harry wondered if that meant that Dumbledore didn't know or whether he just wasn't willing to discuss it, but he knew from experience that it was better not to ask. Apparently Remus did too, for he just nodded at Dumbledore, and reached for Harry's arm to help him out of his chair, a gesture that wasn't lost on the Headmaster. "Harry? Are you all right?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "I'm fine."

"Harry had a run-in with a dementor," Remus said, nodding at the opposite door. "There's a prisoner in there awaiting trial."

Dumbledore's mouth compressed into a thin line of displeasure. "Did it come out here?"

"Er, no, sir," Harry said, embarrassed. "I was looking for the loo."

The mouth twitched a bit then. "I see. Suppose we find one on the way out," he suggested.

"That sounds good, sir," Harry said with relief. His bladder had survived nervousness and a dementor, but he had his doubts, at this point, as to whether it would withstand the Floo network.

Dumbledore squeezed Harry's shoulder. "You did well today, Harry," he said softly. "I couldn't have asked for more."

"Minister Fudge…I wasn't sure…" 

Harry looked at the Headmaster for reassurance, but the old man simply said, "Let's go."

They went.

§ § § § 

The next day, Severus received a summons to Dumbledore's office. It came when he was in the middle of a class, and his emotions ranged from irritation at the inconvenience of the request to a thrill of fear at what lay behind it. By the time he made it to the Headmaster's door, he was merely resigned. 

Dumbledore ushered Severus into his office, making an effort to exude his usual air of geniality. Severus was familiar enough with the man and his moods that he wasn't fooled. The words were right, but the Headmaster's light blue eyes were bleary and the lines around them seemed to have become more deeply engraved. He had worn much the same look at the height of the war. Severus allowed himself to be ushered into his usual chair, plied with tea and sweets, and beguiled into small talk about the progress of his classes that term, knowing that the Headmaster would eventually come to the real purpose of his summons.

Dumbledore sat in the chair opposite, cradling the teacup, the delicate china contrasting with his gnarled hands. They should have looked out of place together, the hands and the cup, but they didn't. There had been so many teas in the Headmaster's office over the years; the hands and the china had become wedded in Severus's imagination, mismatched lovers that had been together for so long that they no longer were mismatched at all but instead simply belonged. Dumbledore took a sip of his tea and gave Severus a small smile. "I do love a cup of tea around mid-morning," 

"And at every other hour of the day," Severus said dryly, tiring of the farce. "If you don't mind, Albus, could we get on with this? I left a class full of second years unattended. It'll be a miracle if the dungeons survive it."

"I've taken the liberty of releasing your class. I didn't much like the dungeon's chances myself, and I don't wish to hurry through this conversation."

"Must be important, then." Severus kept his tone light, but he shifted restlessly and set his unwanted tea to one side.

"It is." Dumbledore looked, for a moment, to be at a loss for words. He stared into his teacup as if it might suddenly reveal a desperately sought truth.

Severus's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Is this the conversation where you tell me to pack for an all-expenses paid vacation at scenic Azkaban?"

Dumbledore looked up at him sharply. "If you don't mind, I'm not in the mood for gallows humour."

"I can't imagine why. It seems perfectly appropriate under the circumstances."

Dumbledore sighed. "I have failed you, Severus. I can see no humour in that."

"They're coming for me then." 

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "They're coming. I'm not sure when, but I can see no way of stopping it. Every string I've pulled has broken. Every avenue of investigation into Barter's affairs has yielded naught. Harry gave his testimony yesterday, and it was simply discounted. There is no proof, of course, that he cast a curse, and Fudge claims that he was too confused in the basement to know what he was doing. Before we left, he told me that they have magically confined you to the castle and put a trace on your wand. There will be a trial…perhaps then…"

"The trial will be a mere formality, Albus. We both know that." He was trying to keep the bitterness at bay, but it was creeping into his voice. For the past week, he had gone about his business, taught his classes, and avoided Hermione's eyes at meals and in the classroom lest she see something there he didn't want her to see. He had tried to ignore the threat that was hanging over him. He had thought he was as prepared as he could be, that worrying would do no good, but now he was being confronted with the reality, and he realized that true preparation wasn't possible.

"The Muggles' justice system is imperfect at best, but I have always believed it more fair than what passes for justice in the wizarding world," Dumbledore said heavily. "This is a mockery."

"Or, perhaps not," Severus said, and the bitterness was spilling out now. "Perhaps it is simply justice long overdue."

"Nonsense!" Dumbledore snapped, rising from his chair and beginning to pace. "You have paid whatever debt you incurred as a young man many times over. And all whilst I…" He paused at the window and made a visible effort to get control of himself. The hands that had cradled the teacup so securely just moments before were trembling as he pressed them against the glass. Severus watched in a kind of bleak fascination – even with the darkness closing in on him, the sight of Albus Dumbledore in a state of such obvious distress was enough to command his rapt attention.

"The view is lovely from here, isn't it?" Dumbledore asked softly, and Severus knew that he wasn't changing the subject. 

"Albus…"

"Have you figured it out yet, Severus? Do you now understand why Sirius chose you to be Harry's godfather, rather than Remus or me?" Dumbledore turned from the window, his tired blue eyes seeking Snape's dark ones from across the room.

"Not…entirely," Severus said. "I do begin to think that it was more than just a deathbed attempt at ruining my life."

Dumbledore smiled slightly at that. "No, it wasn't that at all. Sirius knew that Harry was destined to do great things, but he also realized that Harry wouldn't do _his _great things from the safety of an Ivory Tower. I planned, plotted, and schemed, Severus, in this war against Voldemort and his filthy followers, and then I sat a safe distance away, keeping my hands carefully clean, whilst allowing my children to risk their lives winning a war I should have been fighting myself. I told myself that I was helping in other ways. I told myself that I was more valuable as a general than a foot soldier."

"You are," Severus insisted, feeling something twisting in his gut. He suddenly remembered sitting at the breakfast table, a scrawny nine-year-old thinking of playing Quidditch that day, when an owl arrived telling them that his father had died. On that day, a deep crack had run through the foundation of his existence, not because he had lost his father but because he had seen his mother cry for the first time. Watching Dumbledore humble himself gave him the same feeling of emotional vertigo. For many years, the only sure thing in his life had been Dumbledore's steady presence in that tower. 

"No. No, I'm not," Dumbledore said wearily. "Not if I can't find a way to defeat a man like Horatio Barter. Not if, when it matters the most, I can't find a way to save you – to see justice done for poor Sirius. What good am I if I can't do that?"

"You're forgetting that I'm absolutely guilty of the charges being made against me," Severus said. "I killed Finbar in cold blood – assuming my curse landed first – and even if Potter's curse was the killing curse, I certainly _meant_ to kill him, which is just as bad…You know, Potter asked me, back in Ireland, if I had 'felt it.' He was speaking of the lure of the Dark, Albus, talking about the pleasure he took in cursing Pettigrew. I avoided giving him a direct answer, but you and I both know that there was no member of the Order more susceptible to the Dark than I. I killed Neilus Finbar because at that moment, I hated him and I wanted him dead. I didn't want there to be the slightest risk that our 'justice' system – which I agree is a mockery – would set him free. I killed him, and I…took pleasure in it. He was my teacher, my Head of House, and I stepped over his dead body without the slightest feeling of remorse. If I am now finding the consequences of that act less than pleasant, I certainly do not blame you for failing to protect me from my own base impulses."

Dumbledore crossed the room again and approached Severus's chair. "He was torturing the woman you love, Severus, for all that the love was unacknowledged at the time. Few men could look on that and behave other than as you did."

"You could," Severus said quietly. 

"Perhaps," Dumbledore agreed, his head bowed. "But to see evil in action and to fail to stop it in its tracks hardly seems something to be proud of. What does that make me?"

"It makes you a general and me a foot soldier." 

"I am sorry, Severus." Dumbledore placed his aged hand gently on the younger man's shoulder, and very briefly, Severus covered it with his own smooth one.

"So am I."


	23. No Medals for Service to the Light

Chapter 22

__

No Medals for Service to the Light

"Mr. Potter, see me after class."

Harry looked up from his cauldron, startled, as the voice of his potions master and godfather sliced through the softly humming classroom. "Yes, sir." He glanced at Hermione then, but she merely gave him the barest shrug. Severus had hardly glanced her way in a week, something that was gnawing at her; she was hardly in a position to know what was on his mind.

A few minutes later, Harry waited quietly in his seat as his classmates filed out. Snape didn't glance his way as the classroom emptied, continuing to scratch his quill over a stack of parchments. 

Finally, Harry cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Snape looked up, sweeping the room with his dark eyes. Satisfied that they were alone, he raised his wand and locked the door with a muttered charm, and then he surprised Harry by coming to sit in the student's seat across the aisle from him. 

"We need to talk."

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you still planning to leave us?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes. I _have _been considering staying here long enough to take my N.E.W.T.'s but after that…well, my plans are the same."

"I have made some preliminary arrangements, but to formalize them will require that you put a substantial amount of trust in me. I realize that I've probably done little to earn that trust. It can't be helped."

"I trust you," Harry said automatically, but he realized he said the words that they were actually true. As Hermione had pointed out, if Snape had wanted to get rid of him, or to hurt him, he could have done so easily. Instead, the man had tried to help at every opportunity. Harry saw belatedly that Snape had been doing that for years. Like a Muggle magician performing sleight-of-hand tricks, he had seen to it that Harry – and everyone else – had stayed focussed on his harsh words and apparently unfair treatment, deflecting attention from the times he had stepped in and come to Harry's rescue. Harry had been fooled; apparently Sirius had not.

Snape seemed unimpressed by the protestation of faith. "You haven't heard what I'm going to ask of you yet," he said impatiently. "I'm going to draft a parchment instructing Gringotts to transfer all of your inheritance to a Muggle bank in France. The account will be held in my stepfather's name, and he will make the funds available to you upon request, no questions asked. He will also be in a position to offer other assistance, including shelter for a brief time if need be. As he's a Muggle, he won't be able to help you with anything to do with magic, but if you're planning on living as a Muggle, that shouldn't matter."

"Your stepfather is a _Muggle_?" Harry asked incredulously. "You're joking."

"Of course I'm not joking," Snape snapped. "Why is that everyone's first reaction?"

"Well…you're a Slytherin."

Snape fixed him with a baleful look that would have sent most of his students running for cover. "Contrary to popular belief, 'Slytherin' is not necessarily synonymous with 'bigot.' I assure you that my stepfather, for all that he is a Muggle, is as canny as any Slytherin ever was. He will make you a powerful ally."

"OK," Harry said. "Like I said, I trust you."

Snape nodded. "Very well. I'll draft the order tonight and have it ready for you to sign tomorrow."

Harry shrugged. "That's fine, but there's no real rush. I'm not going anywhere for a while."

"You're not, but I may be," Snape said. "I gave you my word that I would help you. I would prefer not to leave any loose ends."

"The Ministry yesterday…" Harry began, realizing what Snape meant. "Do you mean…?"

Snape nodded. "It appears that Magical Law Enforcement will be coming for me soon."

"They can't do that!" Harry exclaimed. "I told them that I cursed Finbar too." 

"Be that as it may," Snape said harshly, "for various reasons, MLE has decided to make an example of me. I've been branded a vigilante – which is, in all honesty, a fairly apt description in light of my activities over the summer. It appears that I will be prosecuted, and if prosecuted I certainly will be convicted."

Harry's eyes widened as he comprehended the full meaning of Snape's words. "But, that's not right!" he exclaimed. "You were trying to rescue me. He was _torturing_ Hermione."

"We've already discussed this, Potter. I was behind him. I could have stunned him and called the Aurors. I made a different choice."

"But…" Harry looked at Snape, thinking back to the conversation they'd had before he had returned to Hogwarts. "You told me back in Ireland that you were glad you made the choice you had. Do you still feel that way?"

Snape became absorbed with a spot of stone wall just over Harry's shoulder, and for a minute Harry thought he wouldn't answer. "When I made that choice, I had…less to lose than I have now. In hindsight, I wish I'd chosen differently." His gaze shifted from the wall and focused on Harry with glittering intensity. "Remember that, Potter, if you don't remember another thing I've ever taught you. Always consider all the possible consequences of your actions. Never make a choice until you're sure you can live with the ramifications."

"I _am _sure." Harry looked furious. "I'll tell them that _my _curse is the one that killed Finbar. I'll just…say I suddenly remember or something. I'll tell them I'm sure."

"I'm touched," Snape said sarcastically, "but they have no interest in hearing that, and you have no way of proving it even if they did. This isn't about justice; it's about revenge. It's about finding any excuse to toss me in Azkaban. I happen to have provided them with a conveniently _legitimate_ excuse. They're not going to let go of it no matter what anyone says."

"What can I do?" 

"Nothing…No, that's not true." Snape gave Harry a raw look he couldn't immediately identify. "There is one thing."

"What?"

"It will be…hard on her at first. Help her, if you can."

"It'll kill her," Harry whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Snape's brows snapped together and he pinned Harry with his most vicious glare. "It most certainly will _not_ do that. Give her some credit. And in the meantime, keep your mouth shut. I'll not have her worrying."

Harry nodded mutely, but privately he wished Snape asked him to take over the teaching of Potions classes – or some equally ridiculous thing - rather than giving him the impossible task of consoling Hermione. And how on earth was he supposed to keep this from her? Wouldn't it be kinder to give her some warning? However, Snape's face said that he would hear of no discussion on the matter, so Harry kept quiet.

"We need to talk about one more thing," Snape said, sounding suddenly tired and anxious to send Harry on his way..

"Yes, sir?" Privately, Harry was thinking, _"There's more?" _and Snape's next words came as a relief.

"Your independent study. Professor Dumbledore has asked me to oversee it. It appears that I will be unable to do that in the long term, but I have prepared a syllabus for you and spoken to the professors you will be working with. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall will instruct you in advanced techniques in their subject areas, and Professor Dumbledore will work with you on wandless magic. I have not bothered to get to know the latest in the series of geniuses that our Headmaster has hired to teach Defence, so I had planned to instruct you in that subject myself. We can begin that way, at any rate. If I am…called away, I will leave behind a request that Remus Lupin take over your instruction, perhaps in conjunction with Professor Dumbledore."

"It sounds like a lot of extra work," Harry blurted.

Snape rolled his eyes. "You have been given special permission to drop one of your classes. I would recommend Divination, but if you want to make it Potions I won't object. Hermione can tutor you in what you need to know for your N.E.W.T.'s - though it hardly matters if you're planning to run away again immediately afterwards."

"No, Divination is fine. I'll keep Potions."

"I'm flattered."

"Don't be. I just…couldn't let Hermione come down here by herself."

Snape closed his eyes briefly. "Point taken." He drew a ragged breath and returned to the subject at hand. "Well then. You'll need to speak with each of your instructors to set up a regular meeting time at mutual convenience. Do that tomorrow, if you can, and plan to begin your independent study next week."

"Yes, sir."

Snape stood up, indicating that the discussion was over, and Harry followed suit. He looked at Snape, stiff and foreboding as ever, his face appearing to have been carved out of stone. He looked utterly unapproachable, yet Harry knew he might not have another chance to say what he was feeling. 

"I'm sorry, Professor," he said hoarsely, hanging his head. "I feel like this is all my fault, and I don't know how to fix it."

"It's not your fault, and I don't expect you to fix it," Snape said, his voice distant. "Don't try to be the hero on this one, Potter."

"_Hero_," Harry spat bitterly, his head snapping up and green eyes flashing behind the oval lenses of his glasses. "That's a laugh, isn't it?"

"That isn't what I meant," Snape said, and his voice had softened slightly. "Of course you're capable of being a hero. You've proven that. But you've also learned that heroism, like vigilantism, comes with a price. I do not wish to see you pay that price on my behalf. Get away from this place while you still can. _Run away_, Harry."

__

Harry. The word echoed, bouncing off the cold stone walls. Harry looked up in wonder, searching his strange, new godfather's face for signs of sarcasm and finding none, only a resigned sorrow lurking behind the hooded black eyes. He had no words to respond to the unexpected, unprecedented validation from Severus Snape, but one hand reached for the older man, bridging the distance between them and closing lightly over Snape's forearm. The arm went rigid beneath his fingers and the black eyes flared with surprise and something else, something Harry couldn't quite read, before hardening into the familiar glare as Snape pulled away. 

"Get out of here, Potter. I'm afraid stupidity is contagious, and at the moment, I haven't the time to work on an antidote."

The words might have wounded had Harry not noticed the slight softening of the other man's features, a blurring of the sculptor's harsh lines. So instead of a retort, he just nodded and said, "Yes, sir. Thank you for your time."

Snape nodded a stiff acknowledgement, and reached for his wand to unlock the classroom. Harry gathered up his things, and though he didn't turn around, he felt intense eyes burning into his back as he walked out the door.

§ § § §

It was late that night when Severus made it to his chambers, having spent more than an hour ironing out a dispute in the Slytherin common room. The simple solution - simply bashing the students' heads together - was incompatible with Dumbledore's policies, more's the pity, so he had been forced into the role of mediator before he could decide who merited what in the way of punishment. _A condemned man meting out justice._ He snorted bitterly at the ludicrousness of that and then fixed a drink and crossed to his desk, taking out two pieces of parchment and his favourite quill. 

The first letter was simple, really, despite its portent. He drafted an instruction to the Gringotts goblins to transfer Harry Potter's inheritance to the Banque de France and then checked his owl from his stepfather and named the specific account number and other pertinent information. Tomorrow after breakfast, he would have Potter sign it and seal it with his own unique magical seal, and having done that and arranged for the independent study, his brief stint as godfather to The Boy Who Lived would be over.

He set the message to Gringotts aside and drained his glass, re-filling it before reaching for the second sheet of parchment, dipping his quill into the ink, and cleaning the nib with care. This second letter would not be easy at all.

__

My Dear Hermione,

I am being forced into an appreciation of irony. I forbade you making me any promises and yet rashly allowed myself the luxury of promising that I would be waiting for you when you finished school. By the time you get this, you will have learned that I am unable to keep my word.

You never asked me directly about the sins I committed in the past. We had so little time, and I can hardly blame you for not wanting to spend precious moments so sordidly. For the same reason, I will not waste my time enumerating those sins now. You surely know, however, that I did not leave Voldemort's service blameless, nor would I have pledged myself to Dumbledore's cause if I hadn't felt that I owed the world some reparation for my previous actions. I am not, at heart, a very good and selfless man, and I will not pretend that I am, even for you. 

If I am honest with myself – and with you – I must admit that I deserved my current fate long ago and escaped it only through Dumbledore's intervention. I do not regret committing the crime for which I am now being prosecuted, particularly given your treatment at Neilus Finbar's hands, but there are others I regret deeply, and for those I walked free. In the end, I will be condemned for my service to the Light, while my service to the Dark goes unpunished. 

Again…irony.

I took such care, for so many years, to make sure that if I met an end such as this one, I would leave no one behind to mourn. Had we been brought together in the cottage while Voldemort still walked the earth, I never would have considered allowing you close to me, no matter how tempting the prospect. I made the mistake - somehow - of equating Voldemort with evil itself, when in fact, he was just one particularly vile incarnation of it. I should have known better. Damn it! I should have known better! But I didn't, and after all my years of careful seclusion, I thought that with Voldemort gone it might finally be safe to accept the gift of a beautiful young mind and heart that - for reasons I still can't discern - sparked to mine. You said to me one awkward and memorable night that you thought I deserved to have friends and people who loved me. Perhaps. But do you regret counting yourself among that small number? For now I learn that it wasn't "safe" at all and that all my years of seclusion were wasted, and you will be the one left behind to pay the price.

Dare I mention irony again? I fear I become tedious with repetition.

I told Potter today that I might have made a different choice in Finbar's basement had I known what I would have to lose when the consequences came raining down. I do not regret killing Neilus Finbar, but I regret being punished for it very much. (It sounds childish, when put like that; perhaps my students are rubbing off on me.) I think that he needed to die, not only for what he had done to Potter, and to you, but because of the threat he posed to the world at large. However, if I had known that killing him meant leaving you, I would have let him live. That twisted protestation of love is all I have to offer you now, and you deserve better. 

You deserve a love letter, full of flowery declarations and praises of your beauty, your intelligence, your wit. You will not get that from me, not because I don't feel those things for you but because the time for those things has passed, and I am simply not capable of them now. I have spent the last week rebuilding the walls you tore down in our few short days together, and so instead, you will get a disquisition on irony - and an apology. 

For I am sorry, Hermione. I have moved between Darkness and Light for so long that they have blended into shadow and I often cannot distinguish between them. Your young heart doesn't belong in the shadows. My only consolation lies in your strength - a strength I never dreamed of until I got to know you and felt it for myself. You will survive my loss as you have survived others. You will move on. If those sound like direct orders - they are. I am in charge…remember that? Please do this final thing for me, and then you may consider our agreement null and void.

I love you,

Severus

He put down the quill with a shuddering breath and reached for his drink, draining the last of it in one long draught. He didn't bother re-reading what he had written. It was inadequate, but there was nothing that could make this better, so there was no point in labouring over it. He would leave it in his laboratory for her. His preparations would then be complete.

__

§ § § §

Severus growled the day's instructions to his third-year class and then settled at his desk to grade sixth-year parchments, occasionally casting an experienced eye around the room for signs of an impending disaster. He saw no smoke and smelled no telltale fumes, thank fortune, but he rolled his eyes as he noticed new silver earrings glinting in the ears of no fewer than six thirteen-year-old Harry Potter admirers. Boys all over the castle were suddenly sporting earrings. The older students were mostly ignoring the fad, either because they had settled confidently into their own style or because they had known Harry for long enough that his star power had waned for them. The younger students were susceptible, however.

The irony was not lost on Severus. Harry had gotten the earring because he didn't want to look like Harry Potter; he didn't want to _be_ Harry Potter. Now half of Hogwarts was getting earrings because they _did_ want to be Harry. Everyone wanted to be The Boy Who Lived except the boy who had actually done it. 

And Severus couldn't blame him. He had spent years hating Harry, thinking that Harry cultivated and basked in his fame, and perhaps he had – a little – as a child. But the child was nearly a man now, and whatever lustre fame had once held for him had been tarnished by loss. If he remained in the wizarding world, he would live the rest of his life marked by the shadow of the scar that had once branded him an infant hero. He would live a distorted life, one that promised greatness at great personal cost. Severus would not force that upon him. The boy was old enough to choose, and he was choosing to walk away. 

Harry had signed the order to Gringotts that morning and the owl had been dispatched. The first steps had been taken to help Harry Potter disappear from the wizarding world. Eventually, it would come out that Severus Snape, the boy's own godfather, had aided and abetted that disappearance. He spent little time worrying about what the history books would have to say about such a man. He doubted they would have had anything flattering to say about him anyway. And these children, with their foolish attempts at imitation hanging from their ears, would never know the truth of Harry Potter. They would be taught about The Boy Who Lived, but the unpleasant truth of his years locked in a cupboard would be glossed over. They would be taught about the boy who defeated Voldemort, but Ron Weasley and Sirius Black would be mere footnotes to a tale of glory.

How close Severus also had come to missing the point of Harry Potter. How close he had come to missing the similarities between them. While Harry was in a cupboard, Severus had been in a dungeon. While Harry lost his best friend and his godfather, those losses had triggered a series of bizarre events that had led Severus Snape to the very brink of happiness, only to have it snatched away.

It was now impossible, of course, since he had been bound to the castle, but when he had first learned of the threat of prosecution, he had thought of running away – of course he had. He was a wizard, after all, and he knew he could disappear if he put his mind to it. He was helping Potter do that very thing. But he lacked the energy, somehow. Freedom, in that case, would come at the cost of more years of hiding – perhaps a lifetime of it – and that wasn't freedom at all. Besides, he would only want to go if he could take her with him, and that was impossible. She held too much promise to spend a lifetime hiding out with a convicted killer. He would not waste her life, and she would be much more likely to get on with that life if she knew that he was gone and never coming back. A dementor's kiss should solve that problem neatly enough – and he was sure that Barter would see to it that his punishment was nothing less than that. 

His affairs were in order. He had done what he could for Harry, made the necessary arrangements for his stepfather to serve as godfather-by-proxy and to keep the boy's financial house in order until he was ready to handle those matters himself. It was all that Severus Snape could do. Whatever was coming, he would face it without flinching. Would she think him brave or foolish for accepting his fate? He hadn't known her long enough or well enough to be sure. What they'd had together was a mere glimpse at a possible future, an ethereal dream that now would never be realized. In a way, that made his situation more painful. He had tasted the sweetness of hope only to have it turn bitter in his mouth, but he would savour even the bitterness as long as it was left to him. It wouldn't be long now.

He looked up in surprise and noted the third-years collecting their things and putting away their cauldrons and supplies. Nothing had exploded, but neither had he graded the first parchment. Even during his years as a spy, he had been able to disassociate from the tangled morass of his second life and focus on his responsibilities as a Hogwarts professor. He had never been given to lengthy contemplation in the classroom, but he thought that a man in imminent danger of losing his soul to a dementor had the right to let his mind wander a bit while it still could. 

So it was in this contemplative state that he climbed the steps that led from the dungeon to the corridor above and found Harry and Hermione walking alone toward the Great Hall. He stopped short, and so did she. It was the closest they had come to being alone together since they had left the cottage, the nearest they had been to one another with the exception of their time in the potions classroom, when their act was, by necessity, in full force.

His face was impassive, locked in its harsh mask, but as their eyes met for the first time in days, the current of emotion that ran between them was so apparent that it charged the air around them and made Harry step backward, feeling suddenly intrusive.

He wasn't aware of making any decision, but in several long strides he was upon her, pulling her into his arms and crushing his lips to hers. Dimly, he heard her book bag hit the floor with a heavy thud and felt her arms come around his neck, clinging to him even after he reluctantly pulled away and took a shuddering breath. He held her in the strong circle of his arms and she smiled up at him. 

"What was that for?" she asked shakily.

"Because I could," he murmured, closing his eyes against everything he saw on her face. He couldn't explain about the consuming desire to taste the sweetness one last time – couldn't explain anything, really. He just touched her hair, smoothing it away from her forehead and kissing her softly on her brow before releasing her and stepping away.

All too soon, she would realize that the gesture had been one of benediction and farewell.

§ § § § 

Minerva McGonagall relied on her prefects and her Head Girl to maintain order and discipline in the Gryffindor tower and seldom put in an appearance there herself. Students met with Professor McGonagall in her office, and she left them their living quarters as a mostly staff-free zone. In fact, she had not been seen in the Gryffindor common room since the night she had come to fetch Harry and Hermione to the bedside of a dying Sirius Black, and it was with a dark sense of déjà vu that she approached the Fat Lady under orders to bring those same two students to the Headmaster's office. In previous years, she would have assumed some infraction of the rules, but as mature seventh year students, and without Ron Weasley to complete the triumvirate, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had given her no indication that they were apt to cause trouble. 

And she hadn't liked the look on the Headmaster's face at all.

Hermione and Harry were studying at their usual table in the common room, which went suddenly quiet as the Head of Gryffindor House emerged through the portrait hole. The two friends looked up and exchanged an uneasy glance as they saw McGonagall heading their way. 

"Professor?" Hermione asked.

"I've been asked to escort you two to the Headmaster's office," McGonagall said briskly. 

"Has something happened?" Harry felt his stomach start to churn.

"Professor Dumbledore did not tell me why he wishes to see you, Mr. Potter. He simply indicated that you should come immediately."

Harry nodded and stacked his books, and Hermione followed suit. They felt every eye in the common room upon them as they followed their Head of House out of the portrait hole. The sound of their footsteps echoing in the hollow stone corridors evoked the chilling memory of the night Sirius had died, and the two Gryffindors instinctively moved closer together, their shoulders nearly touching as they approached the Headmaster's office.

McGonagall gave the password and escorted them inside, where they found Albus Dumbledore adding wispy thoughts to his pensieve. He was grave as he looked up at them, without a trace of his usual good humour.

"Thank you for coming, children. Please sit down. Minerva, I'd like for you to stay, too. This concerns all of us."

They sat obediently, and for the first time in any of their memories, they weren't offered any type of refreshment. Instead, Dumbledore came around his desk and leaned against it, standing directly in front of Hermione.

"I have some dreadful news," he said. "And since there is no way of softening it, I won't waste my time trying. Severus has been taken to Azkaban."

Three people, three very different responses. Minerva gasped, looking at Albus Dumbledore as if this might perhaps be some sort of a bizarre joke. Harry's face hardened into lines of obvious anger and his green eyes blazed. Hermione, however, sat frozen, her hands folded carefully in her lap. 

Dumbledore knelt down before her chair, his long beard sweeping the floor at her feet. "There is still hope, my dear. We mustn't give up hope. There will be a formal Ministry hearing before any final sentence is passed down. I confess that I hoped to prevent it going even this far, but I've not given up on securing his freedom."

"He was right," Harry said furiously. "He said this was about revenge rather than justice, and he was absolutely right. They're not going to let him go, Professor, no matter what we say."

"You knew." Hermione's voice was low, without inflection. "This morning…he was telling me goodbye, wasn't he? And you knew it."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. "He made me promise not to say anything." He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. 

She felt raw and fragile. She didn't want to be touched. She didn't even want to move, as if by staying still and perfectly quiet she might hide from the avalanche of feelings that threatened to come crashing down on her. She had cried when they had parted at the cottage, but this was a grief far beyond tears. It was beyond expression of any sort, and so she stayed still and pulled her pain over and around her like a shroud.

Minerva McGonagall was an intelligent woman, and even if she had been less intelligent she would have been able to glean from the situation that Severus Snape and Hermione Granger had a relationship that was vastly different from what she had imagined it to be. It didn't take a genius, after all, to gather that the girl had not been reduced to a state of utter devastation by the loss of her least favourite professor. However, Minerva was also intelligent enough to know that Hermione's grief was not the central point she needed to pursue just then, and there was much about the situation that she was _not _able to grasp from context. She, like everyone else, was accustomed to feeling a step or two behind in conversations with the Headmaster, but in this case, everyone in the room seemed to be far ahead of her. She felt as if she were trying to make sense of a parchment that had been thoroughly drenched in a rainstorm so that only every third or fourth word was actually legible. The rest was a blurry mess.

"Albus…" she began.

"I apologize, Minerva. You are understandably confused, and I will do what I can to enlighten you." He began then with Harry's disappearance, telling of all that had occurred that week, leaving out only the parts that belonged to Hermione and Severus alone. He finished with their trip to the Ministry two days before, and the Minister's refusal to accept that Harry's curse might have been the one that killed Finbar. Hermione remained still, appearing slightly dazed, but Harry sat forward and absorbed everything he could.

"There's more, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry. "They are threatening to prosecute you as well, for casting the Cruciatus curse. Our Minister is a weak man, I'm sorry to say, subject to manipulation by those he perceives as powerful. Unfortunately for us, Horatio Barter is just such a man. He's convinced Fudge that to let you off scot-free will be to invite a public relations scandal – one that he would conveniently engineer, of course. Fudge knows better than to underestimate Barter's influence in the publishing business. He's threatening to tell the public that your celebrity status has placed you above the law."

"I was defending myself," Harry protested angrily. 

"Of course. It's an empty threat designed to scare you so that you'll cooperate with them."

"What do they want?"

Dumbledore sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes in a weary gesture. "They want you to testify against Severus. The only way they can justify the most severe penalty is if they have a witness to the fact that he killed Neilus Finbar without first being attacked himself. Miss Granger doesn't qualify because she was under the effects of the Cruciatus curse at the time. Even if that wasn't the case, her, ah…personal relationship with Severus would disqualify her as a witness."

Hermione raised her eyes for the first time. "How do they know about that?"

"I'm not sure they do - for certain, at any rate. They've made insinuations - hoping, I suspect, that I would either confirm or deny them. It seems that a young man who works for Barter met you while you were pretending to be Severus's cousin at the King house and then later learned who you really were."

"Gregor," she said softly. "I ran into him at Gringotts when I was in Diagon Alley to get supplies."

"Yes, well, I think he just mentioned it to Barter in passing, but the fact that you were accompanying Severus at all - and in disguise - was sufficiently suspicious to raise some questions."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I saw Gregor, and then Ginny and Mrs. Weasley arrived before I had time to come up with any sort of a story for him. I didn't know what to do…"

"It doesn't matter now, my dear," Dumbledore said gently. "Severus wasn't sent to Azkaban for falling in love with a student."

"He wasn't sent to Azkaban for killing Finbar either," Harry snapped.

"No, not entirely," Dumbledore agreed. "He was sent to Azkaban for being a traitor to a cause that both Barter and Finbar held dear. Unfortunately, I'm having trouble proving it. Barter is scrupulously careful about keeping his own hands clean."

"Surely Fudge must know!" Harry exclaimed. "If Barter wasn't involved in my kidnapping, why would he be involving himself in the investigation now?"

Dumbledore sighed. "It's complicated, Harry, and there are parts that even I don't understand yet. Barter and Finbar were friends, years ago, before Finbar faked his death. Barter doesn't deny that friendship, nor does he deny that Finbar was involved in your kidnapping. He is simply claiming that for the sake of his old friendship, he wants to be sure that justice is served. He is making all sorts of accusations against Professor Snape, including saying that he was actually the mastermind behind the plot to kidnap you."

"That's rubbish!" Harry exclaimed, clenching his hands into fists.

"Yes. Yes it is. Unfortunately that's difficult to prove. Many of Professor Snape's actions can be cast in a very unflattering light, beginning twenty years ago with his conceiving the potion Finbar planned to use. I can find no evidence that Barter ever wore the Dark Mark; he may have been one of those wizards who provided Voldemort's cause with financial support rather than involving himself directly in the dirty work. I think I could prove that, given more time, but right now all we have is a powerful and influential man making accusations against a known Death Eater. Minister Fudge sees this as an opportunity to curry favour with that influential man."

"And to get back at you," Harry said.

The Headmaster bowed his head. "Unfortunately, Harry, I think that may be true."

"What if I just tell them that _my_ curse is the one that killed Finbar?" Harry asked desperately. "What if I tell them I'm sure?"

"There's no proof that you even cast a curse. They'll say you're making it up to protect Professor Snape."

"But Hermione was there. She knows I cast a curse. I _told _them that."

"And who would have more interest in protecting Severus than Hermione? If her testimony were admitted at all, she would have to admit to their relationship under oath. It would only serve to make Severus look worse."

Harry began pacing the office. "What do we do?"

"You will have to make a decision, Harry. I cannot tell you what to do. You've been given a choice by the Ministry – you can testify against Professor Snape and the charges against you will be dropped, or you can face charges of casting an unforgivable curse when other options were available to you."

Harry continued to pace, glancing occasionally at Hermione. The office was silent except for the scuff of his soles against the Headmaster's thick carpet and the soft swish of his robes. Finally he stopped and looked at Dumbledore. "I'll do it. I'll testify against Professor Snape." Hermione's head snapped up and she stared at Harry, uncomprehending. "I have two conditions though."

Dumbledore kept his face neutral, showing neither approval nor disapproval at Harry's words. "Yes, Harry?"

"It has to be a public hearing, and Professor Snape has to be present while I give my testimony. If he's not there, I won't say a word, and they'll have to prosecute The Boy Who Lived and toss him in Azkaban. I don't think Fudge really wants to do that, do you?"

"No, I don't," Dumbledore agreed, and then, "Harry, what exactly do you have in mind?"

"Sir, I think you'd probably rather not know."

The two men's eyes met, and Dumbledore nodded. "Very well. I hope you'll come to me if there's anything I can do to help."

"Albus, is this wise?" McGonagall protested, little understanding what it was that she was objecting to but knowing enough of Harry's history to be unnerved by the determined look on his face.

"Wisdom alone has not sufficed, Minerva. I believe Harry thinks it's time to take some risks."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Harry?" Hermione looked utterly confused.

"Please trust me, Hermione."

She nodded slowly and then cast her eyes back down to the hands that were folded carefully in her lap. She understood that Harry had something in mind – something to help Severus – but she couldn't find it in her to feel hope just then. She couldn't feel anything at all. She was hollow, fragile - delicately blown glass teetering on a precipice, a breath away from shattering completely.

"Severus anticipated tonight's events," Dumbledore said. "He left several things in my care." He reached for a small box and handed it to Harry. "This is for you, Harry. Severus said that you might have need of it in the future."

Harry accepted the box, which felt empty. "What is it, sir?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't know. He didn't tell me."

Harry tucked the box into his robes to be opened later, and Dumbledore reached for a sealed roll of parchment and handed it to Hermione. "This is for you, my dear. It contains the passwords for Severus's private laboratory. He indicated that the entire contents were to be at your disposal. I believe you'll find some sort of communication from him waiting for you there."

It was too much, and Hermione began to tremble, first the hands that held the parchment and then her arms, and finally she was shivering uncontrollably, her teeth chattering as if she were outside in the cold instead of in the Headmaster's comfortable office. There were still no tears; perhaps they had frozen in the chill that was overtaking her.

McGonagall glanced at Hermione and then gave Dumbledore a sharp look. "Is that all, Albus?"

"For tonight," he said, nodding. "I'll let you all know when I hear more. In the meantime, I plan to tell the students and the staff that Severus has left the school on a personal matter. Potions classes will be suspended for the time being. There is no one here qualified to teach them, and I've not made any progress in securing a replacement for next term."

McGonagall nodded and stood up. "Fine." She moved toward Hermione and put a bony hand on the girl's trembling shoulder. "Mr. Potter, I'll ask you to return to your dormitory now. Miss Granger, you will come with me."

Hermione looked up at her Head of House, confused. 

"You have no business being alone right now, child. Come." She gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze, and Hermione nodded and rose from her chair, finding McGonagall's touch less repellent than Harry's had been. 

Dumbledore looked as if he might say something, but he compressed his lips and shook his head slightly, silently acknowledging the fact that there were no words of comfort he could offer just then. He watched as his three guests left the office and then returned, soberly, to his pensieve.

§ § § § 

Harry went obediently to Gryffindor tower, relieved that McGonagall had taken on the burden of Hermione's grief. It wasn't that he didn't want to help Hermione if he could, but he knew he was helpless to console her. The loss of Ron had been a shared loss, but this was something private that he really couldn't understand. He'd never experienced the kind of love Hermione seemed to feel for Severus Snape, and as enraged as he was by Snape's imprisonment, he knew he wasn't feeling anything like what Hermione was feeling just then.

Hermione trailed behind her Head of House, following her to a door tucked under the staircase that led up to Gryffindor Tower. In seven years, she had never known where Professor McGonagall's private rooms were, and now their location barely registered as McGonagall gave the passwords and ushered her inside. With a flick of the Professor's wand, the torches were lit and a fire was blazing in the fireplace. 

"Sit," McGonagall ordered, pushing her toward a comfortable chair. "I'll be right back."

Hermione sat in the chair that had been indicated, still shivering despite her proximity to the fire. Some of the numbness seemed to be wearing off, however, because she had the presence of mind to take note of McGonagall's quarters. They were everything that Severus's hadn't been – warm and inviting, with photographs and personal items scattered around. There were pictures of Professor McGonagall with students, with her fellow staff members, and even one with a beaming Harry Potter standing in the centre of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, clutching a trophy. She stood up to look at it more closely, gravitating toward the memory of that happier, simpler day. It seemed a thousand years had passed since then.

"Look at this one," McGonagall said, reaching for another photograph on a shelf and handing it to her. The rest of the team was different, but the beaming boy holding the Quidditch trophy looked – at first glance – to be the same. He waved to them and then threw his arm around a younger Minerva McGonagall, giving her a gleeful squeeze. 

"Harry's father," Hermione said softly.

"His seventh year. Oh that boy! He could charm the birds out of the trees. And he and Sirius Black together were truly a force to be reckoned with." McGonagall smiled fondly. "All that carefree youth and brilliance. It was glorious. Maddening too, at times, but glorious all the same. It's the thing that keeps Harry from being anything but superficially like James…Harry's never had a chance to be carefree."

"No." Hermione handed the picture back to McGonagall, her hands still trembling slightly.

"Drink this," McGonagall said, handing her a glass. "It'll help."

Hermione took a sip and then choked a little as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. The taste was unpleasant, but she did begin to feel the warmth spreading through her, fighting off the chill, and she took another hesitant sip and let Professor McGonagall guide her back to her chair. McGonagall settled into the chair opposite, surprising Hermione by tucking her feet under her and curling into the chair like the cat she sometimes was. Minerva McGonagall, she of the ramrod straight back and stiff upper lip, had poured herself a generous portion of the amber liquid and proceeded to toss half of it back in one go.

"Thank you," Hermione managed. "This seems to be helping a little. I'm sorry I'm so…"

"Don't apologize," McGonagall said sharply, interrupting her. "You've been dealt a blow – and _clumsily_, I must say, on the part of the Headmaster. What could he have been thinking to tell you that in front of other people? For all his reputed brilliance, Albus Dumbledore is still a man, and men, you will find, have absolutely no sense when it comes to matters of the heart."

Minerva McGonagall, it seemed, did have a face other than the one she showed her students, and Hermione had the sudden feeling that she had fallen into good hands. She nodded. "I've discovered that already. Harry is hopeless and Ron…well, Ron was worse, if that's possible. Even Severus…"

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "Even Severus _what_?" she prompted.

"It, er, seems strange to talk about him with you," Hermione stammered. 

"There's nothing new under the sun, my dear. You're not the first girl to fall in love with a professor, and you won't be the last." She uncurled herself from the chair and went to a side table, opening a drawer and pulling out a small album. She handed it to Hermione. "My wedding pictures."

Hermione opened the album and saw a much younger Minerva McGonagall, raven hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her groom was a man obviously well into middle age, and in every picture, he was looking down at her adoringly. "He was your teacher?"

"At University. We married when I was twenty, and I lost him in the Blitz three years later."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. And just so you know, I'm not about to give you a lecture on how 'tis better to have loved and lost. It might actually be true in hindsight, but it's of no comfort whatsoever when you're in the midst of it. Plus, Severus isn't lost to us yet. There's still hope, and I don't want you to forget it."

Hermione shook her head slightly. "What do you think Harry has in mind?"

"I have no idea, and I'm sure if I did it would make my blood run cold," McGonagall said crisply. "The thing I do know is that whatever it is, he'll need you to help him. Look at how his most recent adventure turned out! I've no doubt that if he'd allowed you to help him run away, he'd have been successful. Just as Severus was successful in finding him with your help."

"Severus would tell you that I was a disaster at the spy business," she said with a sad smile. 

"If you'd been a disaster, he wouldn't have had you along at all," McGonagall countered. "And he certainly wouldn't have fallen in love with you if he hadn't had respect for your abilities. You're a beautiful young girl, but that alone wouldn't be enough to turn the head of a man like Severus Snape."

"We can talk," Hermione began quietly, "about anything at all. Hours go by and it seems like minutes. We start out talking about one thing, and then that leads to another, and another. I've never talked with someone who seemed to understand me – the way my mind works – the way he does. And _his_ mind…he knows so much, doesn't he? And about _everything_. I've never – well – been with anyone like that. Anyone that brilliant. That was actually the hardest thing about coming back here. I missed talking to him so much, and there was no one else I could talk to that way. I love Harry, of course, but he's…well…"

"I understand. Mr. Potter, for all his talents, is not exactly the cerebral type."

"No. And it's funny because Harry should know me better than anyone else here, but I think Severus knew me better after two days than anyone I've ever known, except maybe my parents."

"Intimacy," McGonagall said with conviction. "These days everyone seems to think that all intimacy is about is getting into one another's knickers. What a lot of rot! True intimacy happens in the mind, and it happens all too rarely in this world."

"Is that what it was like for you?" Hermione asked shyly. 

"Exactly. And it was a bit of a scandal for a while, but then folks found other things to talk about. I never had a moment's regret. If I'd waited until I finished at university to be with him, I'd never have been with him at all."

"'Tis better to have loved and lost…" Hermione quoted quietly.

"Hmm. I promised I wasn't going to say that, didn't I?" McGonagall looked at the girl before her thoughtfully. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. What's done is done, and having fallen in love, you don't strike me as the type of girl to fall out of it again with much ease. You've always reminded me of myself as a girl, and that's how I was. Still am, I suppose."

"Did you ever fall in love again after your husband died?"

McGonagall shook her head. "No, my dear, but then, I can't say that I really tried very hard. I came here not long after and made this my life. It's been a rewarding one, and I've been happy. A different kind of happiness, certainly, than what I had with Michael, but happiness nonetheless."

"We hardly had any time at all, but I do think I made him happy." Hermione stared into the leaping flames, taking sips of her drink now without even noticing. "I mean, he was still Severus, of course, and could be awfully superior about things…and I never could go near him until he'd had his coffee in the morning…"

"Who would _want_ to?" McGonagall asked with feeling.

"Exactly." Hermione smiled slightly. "But for all that, he could also be very romantic. Terribly funny, too, when he wanted to be. And he was very protective of me and my reputation. He wouldn't even consider…well, anything happening between us once we were back here. He's barely looked at me this last week. And then this morning… I saw him in the hallway, and he kissed me, just out of the blue, and I was so _happy_." Her voice broke and she took a ragged breath. "I should have known then…that something was wrong…I should have guessed…" 

Her glass fell from her hand and spilled to the floor, and she clapped a hand to her mouth, attempting to hold back both incipient hysteria and the bile she felt rising in her throat. "I'm sorry…" she choked. 

Minerva McGonagall was upon her in an instant, holding her hair and thrusting a hastily transfigured basin beneath her as she heaved the churning contents of her stomach. "That's it, get it out," McGonagall crooned soothingly, over and over. 

Hermione retched until her stomach was empty, finally taking great choking breaths as her Head of House wiped her mouth with a damp cloth. "I'm so sorry," she said, realizing with both embarrassment and relief that the tears had finally come and were now coursing down her face. Her nose was running, slick mucous mingling with the foul bitterness in her mouth. 

Minerva McGonagall calmly exchanged one damp cloth for another and continued mopping her up. "Don't apologize," she said again, but tenderly this time. "You've nothing to be sorry for, child."

The tenderness broke down her final defence, and Hermione collapsed on her Professor's shoulder and let the anguished sobs rip through her until they finally exhausted themselves, slowly shuddering to a halt. 

"Why didn't he tell me?" she asked, forcing the words through her raw throat. "Why didn't he give me some warning?"

"What would you have done?" McGonagall asked, stroking her hair. "What would you have done besides worry yourself sick?"

Hermione pulled away and reached for one of the cloths, wiping her own face this time. "I don't know," she admitted. "I guess I might have begged him to run away."

"Severus is a proud man."

"I know. But _damn_ him!"

"That's it, child. Be angry if you must. Anger can be a useful emotion. Use that anger to help Harry figure out a way to save him."

"Do you really think we can?"

"I think history has shown that there's not much you and your friends can't accomplish when you put your mind to it. Tomorrow, I want you to find out what Harry is planning, and I want you to insist that he let you help. It'll do you good to be doing something useful."

"You know it might involve…well, breaking some rules. Maybe even some laws."

"I would expect nothing less of you two," McGonagall said dryly. "And if there's anything I can do…"

"Thank you, Professor. I feel…well, not _good_, but better. You've helped a lot."

"You're welcome. You may come here whenever you wish and trust that anything said within these walls will go no further. And Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"When you're here, would you call me Minerva?"

Hermione didn't answer, but she threw her arms around the older woman in an impulsive hug. Minerva McGonagall patted her back and took that as a yes.

§ § § § 

Harry pulled the curtains around his bed for privacy and then opened the small box that Dumbledore had given him and stared at the contents: a single feather and a scrap of parchment that said, "_You'll need this for your new wand_."

He lifted the feather carefully from the box, stroking it with the grain and admiring Fawkes' glorious plumage. He hadn't even thought about the fact that he would need a new wand when he ran away. _Typical_. Once again, he'd have bolted off into the Muggle world without first making the proper preparations. Hermione - and Snape, apparently - were the careful planners. Harry knew he was too impulsive, that too often he acted without stopping to think through the consequences, but he also couldn't deny that those impulses had saved his life many times. Could he trust them now? Could he trust himself to actually do the insane thing he was contemplating?

He wasn't sure.

He only knew that whatever his past feelings about the man, he couldn't live with the fact that Severus Snape was being held accountable for a crime that he, Harry, might have committed. He couldn't live with the fact that for the second time in as many decades, he was losing a godfather to Azkaban. He just couldn't.

But he also knew that if he pursued this reckless course, even the celebrity of The Boy Who Lived wouldn't be enough to excuse his actions in the eyes of Cornelius Fudge and his ilk. His plan - such as it was - would likely involve turning his back on the wizarding world forever. Fortunately, he'd been emotionally prepared to do that all along. Now if he could just make the proper logistical preparations…

He stroked the feather one last time and then tucked it carefully back into the little box. He'd begin working on the wand problem first thing tomorrow. 

Somehow, he would figure it all out.

§ § § § 

He held her in his mind as long as he could, all the way from Dumbledore's office and across the Hogwarts grounds. He ignored the Aurors flanking him on either side, every thought focussed on their short time together in Ireland. He remembered the perfect way her head had fit just below his chin and the feel of her curls twined around his fingers. He remembered as much as he could of every conversation, of the way she dared to tease him, of the feel of her fingers when they found the ticklish spot on the tender skin in the crook of his arm and the unfamiliar sound of his own laughter mingling with hers. He clung to the memories until they made the entrance to the Hogwarts grounds, and when they crossed through the portal, he caught sight of the shrouded dementor waiting for him and felt the chill sweep over him as the sound of laughter gave way to the sound of screaming. Her screams at first, as she writhed under Finbar's wand, and then others, nameless victims of his misspent youth who howled their way back into his consciousness as the Aurors stepped away and gave him over into the dementor's decaying hands.

§ § § § 

__

A/N: Thanks to my beta-reader extraordinaire, who has not only nearly gone blind reading this section over and over again but also came up with the titles for this chapter and the last one. 

"'Tis better to have loved and lost/Than never to have loved at all" is from Section 27 of Tennyson's "In Memoriam A.H.H."


	24. The Best Laid Plans

Chapter 23 

The Best Laid Plans 

After leaving Minerva McGonagall's chambers, Hermione made her way up into Gryffindor Tower. It was after midnight, and the Fat Lady huffed at her, annoyed at being awakened. 

"And what are we doing out this late, hmmm?" she asked testily. 

Hermione repeated the password as if she hadn't heard the question. 

"Hmph!" the Fat Lady said, as she swung open. "Some people get awfully high and mighty when they're made Head Girl." 

"Meeting with Professor McGonagall," Hermione muttered as she stepped into the common room. 

"Oh, well, that's all right then," she heard the Fat Lady say, just before closing behind her. 

Hermione made straight for her dormitory, peeling her clothing off in the darkened room and sliding into bed. Not to sleep, of course. At that moment, she wasn't sure she'd ever sleep again. 

Professor McGonagall – Minerva – had eased her passage from the first horrific moments of shock, through intense grief, and then to anger, and now she was in an indefinable place where she seemed to skip from one emotion to another so quickly that it was impossible to say what she was feeling at any given moment. She was still angry with Severus – and Harry – for not giving her some warning, but then she would imagine Severus in Azkaban, destitute of all happiness under the influence of the dementors, and the grief and horror would leave her nauseous again. Stealing happy thoughts from Severus Snape was indeed robbing the poor. Her mind would veer defensively from that image and go in search of something else, only to be reminded again, like a tongue returning to a sore tooth. She tried to do as Dumbledore and Minerva had urged her and to remain hopeful, but hope required something concrete to cling to, and her exhausted brain couldn't manufacture such a thing. Harry had something in mind, she knew, but that wasn't exactly reassuring given the outcome of Harry's last excursion. 

She hadn't been near a dementor, but it seemed they were working vicariously on her as well. 

She felt relief when the blackness of her room began to ease into grey and she had an excuse to leave her bed and begin to prepare for the coming day. She looked dreadful, and she reached for makeup, attempting to repair the marks left by her grief the previous night. It was hopeless, of course, but she did the best she could, wanting to avoid questions from nosy classmates. More than anything, she wanted to find Harry, to find out what he was planning and then to insist that he let her help. But first, she was going to give him a piece of her mind. 

She was one of the first to the Great Hall for breakfast, but Harry came down soon after, settling into the seat next to hers and giving her a quick glance. To her it seemed the wary look of one who expects his neighbour to suddenly erupt into hysterics, though she supposed it was meant to be a look of concern. 

"Are you ok?" he asked hesitantly, confirming her assessment. 

She couldn't tolerate his pity but rather took pleasure in putting paid to it. "What do you think?" 

"Er, I guess you're probably not." 

"Brilliant deduction," she snapped. 

Half of his mouth quirked upwards – relief probably, since her anger was more familiar to him than her tears – and he turned his attention to his plate. 

"Professor McGonagall has given us permission to miss her class this morning," Hermione said, speaking quickly now that students were flooding into the Great Hall. "We need to go down to Severus's lab and talk about whatever it is you're planning. Eat fast and then let's go." 

He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, and looked at her. She met his look with exhausted, red-rimmed eyes and a determined set to her jaw. "You do realize that if I actually succeed in getting him free, he'll kill me for allowing you to help." 

"That's a risk I'm quite willing to take." 

"Thanks," he snapped. "You know, this isn't _entirely_ my fault." 

"You knew!" she hissed. "You knew and you didn't tell me. That most certainly _is_ your fault." 

"He told me not to!" 

"Well if he were anywhere but in _Azkaban_, you can bet I'd be having this conversation with him, but as he's currently unavailable, I'm taking it up with you. And you'd better get it through your thick head right this minute that the time for protecting little Miss Granger is all over." 

"Fine!" The two friends were glaring at one another when Lavender and Parvati dropped into the chairs across from them. 

"What's the matter you two?" Lavender asked teasingly. "Trouble in paradise?" 

The intrusion of the two girls served to re-establish their solidarity for the moment. "Everything's fine," Harry said, trying to deflect their question. "We were just talking about my independent study. Hermione's going to help me with it." 

"Yes," Hermione added. "We've been excused from Transfiguration this morning. Could we borrow your notes later?" 

Lavender shrugged, instantly bored. "All right," she said. "Whenever you want." 

"Let's go, Harry," Hermione said, standing up. 

"I haven't eaten yet." 

"Bring it with you." Hermione seemed too dangerous to be ignored, so Harry nodded and grabbed a scone and a hard-cooked egg before following her out the door. 

§ § § § 

"It's this way," she said, leading him through the labyrinthine corridors of the dungeon, stopping at the door to Severus's lab. She withdrew the small roll of parchment Dumbledore had given her, broke the seal, and glanced at it. She made a choked sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She rotated her wand clockwise and murmured the password…_indentured servant_. The door swung open, and she hesitated only a second before stepping across the threshold. 

Here, more than anywhere else, she could feel his presence; she stood still for a moment just inside the door and let it wash over her, unsure if what she was feeling was pleasure or pain. He had left the work areas characteristically neat while his desk was the same hodgepodge it had been before. She made her way over there and spotted the roll of parchment with her name on it. She glanced at Harry. "Would you give me just a minute?" 

"Of course," he said, feeling suddenly petty about his earlier annoyance with her. He stepped back into the corridor and stood with his back pressed against the rough stone wall. 

Severus hadn't bothered sealing the parchment, having made it clear to Dumbledore that no one but Hermione should have access to his laboratory, so she simply unrolled it with shaking hands, her gaze roving hungrily over his heavy script. She finished his parting note to her with dry eyes, having cried all she intended to, though she felt stung by the bitterness she found on every line. It increased her determination to get him out of there – whatever it took. And that meant… 

"Harry? You can come back in." 

Harry appeared in the doorway instantly. "All right then?" he asked. 

"Fine." She leaned against the desk, tucking the parchment into her robes. "Start talking." 

Harry entered, shut the door, and sat in one of the black armchairs. "This isn't going to be easy." 

"I wasn't expecting it to be. Just tell me what you have in mind, and I'll tell you what's wrong with your plan." 

He gave her a half-smile. "Well, that's certainly worked before." He took a deep breath. "Okay, what I'm thinking is this – it's too hard to get him out of Azkaban. He's not an Animagus, like Sirius, and we haven't the time to make a Polyjuice potion, like Crouch did. As far as I know, no one else has ever managed to escape." 

"No," she agreed. "At least not since the dementors began guarding it."  

"Which is why I told Dumbledore that I wanted Snape to be there when I gave my testimony. They'll have to bring him from Azkaban to the Ministry building, and I might have a shot at getting him out of there." 

"That's your big plan?" she asked doubtfully. 

"Well, I admit there are a few loose ends," Harry said. "But I got a look at the Ministry building when I was there with Dumbledore a few days ago. Magical Law Enforcement takes up one long corridor. They have the Hearing Room, which is like a Muggle courtroom, and just inside there's the entrance to a small antechamber where they keep prisoners who are waiting to testify. I accidentally walked into the room where they keep the prisoners while Remus and I waited back there for Dumbledore. There aren't any bars or anything, like you'd see in a Muggle prison – just a long line of cots right there in the open. Remus said they bring them from Azkaban stunned, wake them up to give their testimony, and then either set them free or return them to Azkaban when its all over." 

"So all we'd have to do is get in there and wake him up? That sounds too easy." 

Harry raised his eyebrows and got a cool look from Hermione in return. "_We_," she repeated with a level stare. After a moment he nodded and went on. 

"Well…there is a guard. Er, a dementor." 

"We'd have to get by a dementor?" Hermione started to pace. 

"It surprised me the other day, but it won't the next time. I'll cast a Patronus and drive it away," Harry said confidently. 

"How did you plan to get in there in the first place?" 

"Well, I was thinking about that last night. I think I need to learn to apparate. Dumbledore, Remus and I took the Floo, of course, but it'll be closed at night. I'm thinking the night before the hearing is the time to do this." 

"What if they don't bring him until the next morning?" 

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I'll speak to Dumbledore after I leave here and ask that the hearing be scheduled for first thing in the morning. Surely, in that case, they'll bring Snape to the Ministry sometime the day before. The one thing we've got on our side is that Fudge really wants to make this all go away and still have his hero at the end of it. I think he'll do what he can to accommodate me." 

Hermione nodded. "I think you're right about that." She dropped into Severus's chair and bit her lip thoughtfully. 

"Harry, why don't you just tell the truth? Fudge is willing to grant you a public hearing. Just go in there and tell the world about Pettigrew and Finbar and Barter and all the rest of it. You _know _they're bluffing about prosecuting you." 

"Sure they are, but they're not bluffing about Snape, and I don't think the fact that this is a public hearing means I'm going to be telling 'the world' anything. Barter owns a _publishing_ company, remember? You heard what Dumbledore said - if anyone's going to win a public relations war, it'll be him, not us." 

"Yes, but with your celebrity…" 

"It's too risky, Hermione. According to the law, Snape and I are both guilty. There are just too many ways that Barter can make us look bad, and Dumbledore hasn't yet been able to prove that he's involved. If I go into that hearing and say anything other than what they're expecting me to say…well, I don't think it'll do Snape or me any good." 

 Hermione sighed. "I suppose you're right. But breaking into the Ministry…" 

"I'm telling you, I saw the place, and it just doesn't seem that hard. Getting in and out will be the tough part, but once we're in, it's just a boring office building. It's not like some of the spots we've been in before. There's no Devil's Snare, no basilisk on the loose…" 

"Only a dementor or two," she said sarcastically. "No problem at all. So we get him out…then what? He can't just come back here and start teaching again, can he?"  

"No," said Harry. "He can't. He'll have to disappear for a while. Dumbledore said he thought he could get the evidence he needs against Barter - he just needs more time. So Snape will have to go away for a while, and hopefully Dumbledore will be able to incriminate Barter. With Barter out of the way, I think the case against Snape will fall apart." 

"You think." 

Harry shrugged. "I _hope_. I don't know what else to try, Hermione. At least this way, he'll have a chance." 

She sighed and then nodded. "Okay. We'll try it." 

"Good." Harry smiled at her, but she couldn't reciprocate. There was just too much about his plan that was uncertain, and even if they met with success, the outcome would be the lesser of two evils. Snape would be spared Azkaban, but he would be exiled from the wizarding world while Dumbledore pulled at invisible strings for who knows how long. She, like everyone else, had been accustomed to thinking that Dumbledore could do anything, but there was no escaping the fact that the day before he had stood by, impotent, as his potions master had been led away to Azkaban. She was still sorting out the maelstrom of emotions that had been unleashed during her brief time in Dumbledore's office, but there was no question that her faith in Albus Dumbledore had been deeply shaken. Her faith in Harry wasn't exactly at an all-time high, but at least she knew that he would let her help him. By putting her trust in Harry, she would be retaining some measure of control, and just then she desperately needed to feel that she was being useful. So, they would break into the Ministry of Magic. They would find Severus, and even if it meant turning their backs on the wizarding world, she and Severus would at least be together. That possibility, more than any other, drove her decision. 

She turned her attention back to the details Harry so frequently overlooked. That would be her contribution to the plan. "All right then, but if we're going to be popping back and forth to London, we need to learn to apparate. We can probably manage that in a few days. I don't think it's all that hard, actually, as long as you concentrate on what you're doing. It would be nice, though, if we had someone who was experienced at it to give us some pointers. Professor McGonagall offered to help, but I'm not sure…" 

"Remus," Harry interrupted. "He's the only one I'd trust with this, and I think when he hears what happened, he'll want to help."    

"Okay." Hermione took a deep breath. "What else?" 

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the small box Dumbledore had given him the night before. "I need you to help me figure out what to do with this." He opened the box and showed her the crimson feather. "There was a note. He said it was for my wand." 

"Of course," she said, biting her lip. "You'll need an unregistered wand if you're planning to run away, and to make one, you'll have to have a tail feather from Fawkes. That's why Barter asked Severus to get one…he and Finbar were planning on making you a new wand. But I wonder how he managed to get it without Dumbledore knowing. I have trouble picturing Severus having a heart-to-heart talk with Fawkes." 

Harry snorted at that. "No kidding. But he must have, I guess. I just don't know what to do with it now. If I take the feather to Ollivander, he'll register the wand."    

"No. You can't do that. Of course, there are wizards out there who make unregistered wands – Horatio Barter is one of them – but we certainly can't go to him, and I doubt we could find anyone else in the amount of time that we have before the hearing." 

"What do you think Snape had in mind?" 

"I don't know.  But he wouldn't have expected you to need it so soon, would he? He probably thought you'd have the rest of the school year to figure it out. At the same time, you'd be learning loads of wandless magic from Professor Dumbledore, so you wouldn't have as much need of your wand when it came time for you to  leave." 

"He had me transfer my inheritance to his stepfather," Harry told her, "but he said that since his stepfather was a Muggle, he'd be of no help to me with anything to do with magic. I think we're on our own with this one." 

Hermione continued to chew her lip, and Harry remained respectfully silent, giving her time to think. "Okay," she said, with the air of someone who has made up her mind. "I'll take the wand problem. I'll start in the library and see what I can find out about the process of wand making. You owl Mr. Lupin and see if we can arrange to meet with him. I guess he'll have to come here…we don't have another Hogsmeade weekend for several weeks."    

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so, Hermione. Dumbledore and McGonagall know we're up to something, and they both offered to help, but do you _really_ think they'd let us get away with breaking into the Ministry of Magic? I think we need to meet with Remus off the grounds – for his sake, if nothing else. If this blows up in our faces, I don't want anyone to know he's in the middle of it."  

"You want to sneak out." 

"Just to the Shrieking Shack. I'll ask Remus to meet us there tonight." 

She nodded. It presented a few logistical problems, but they paled in comparison to breaking into the Ministry. They would manage. "Harry?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Why are you doing this? Is it for me? I mean, I know Severus is technically your godfather, but you've never really liked him…" 

Harry shook his head. "No, I've never really liked him, but it's not just for you. It _is _because he's my godfather, in a way. I know that sounds strange. But Sirius must have thought Snape had something I needed, you know? I mean, he didn't like Snape either – he wouldn't have just done that on a whim. I'm not exactly sure what it was, but I trust Sirius enough to want to find out. And besides," he added, his face hardening, "there's a good chance that Snape is in Azkaban for a crime that _I _committed. No matter how I felt about him, I couldn't live with that." 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. 

"For what?" 

"Last night…when you told Dumbledore you would agree to testify against Severus. I thought…at first…" She shook her head. "I should have known better." 

Harry shrugged, smiling wryly. "S'alright really, what with all the stuff I've said about him over the years. He didn't like me much either, but he managed to save my arse a few times. I owe him for that. And I owe _you_ for even more." 

She picked up the green coffee cup and ran her index finger down the serpent that formed the handle. Her voice was hoarse when she answered him. "Save him, Harry, and you can call us even." 

§ § § § 

Hermione went straight to the library and began examining books on the making of wands while Harry went to the owlery and sent a note to Remus, requesting that he meet them in the Shrieking Shack that night. He thought he could count on Remus to help, but he wasn't entirely sure. Remus had been a Marauder, and he and Sirius had entertained Harry with their reminiscences of their nocturnal adventures. But wandering the Forbidden Forest as Padfoot, Prongs, Moony, and Wormtail, however thrilling and dangerous it might have been, was still a far cry from breaking into the Ministry of Magic and battling a Dementor to free a prisoner. Lurking in Harry's mind was the fear that Remus would try to stop him; had there been anyone else to turn to, he would have. But Remus had taught him to cast a Patronus in his third year, long before any of his classmates, and that thought gave Harry hope that Remus would now agree to teach him to apparate. 

He attached the scroll to Hedwig's foot and gave her an affectionate pat before sending her off into the grey sky. Since Remus was still living in the house in Hogsmeade, Hedwig's journey would only take a matter of minutes, and assuming she found Remus at home, Harry would have his answer very quickly. He decided to wait in the owlery for Hedwig's return and sat with his back to the wall, listening to the soft hoots and ruffled feathers as the owls stirred and settled themselves again. The Owlery was at the top of one of the castle's many towers; from his vantage point, Harry could see the sweep of lawn leading down to the lake. So much had happened to him since the night he had first crossed the lake in the enchanted rowboat and seen Hogwarts Castle loom into view. The castle had been the first place that had ever felt like home to him, the first place he could ever remember being happy. At eleven he couldn't have known that the happiness would come with such a terribly high price, and he wondered now if he _had_ known, whether he would have agreed to pay it. 

A fine rain began to fall, blurring the horizon. The wind blew just enough that his left side was soon damp, and the stones upon which he sat became dark and slick. He didn't bother to move. His time in Finbar's basement had rendered him indifferent to minor discomforts, and a part of him wished he could sit for days in that very spot and watch Hogwarts change with each passing cloud and shift of the light – to sit, unmoving and unnoticed, and experience the cycle of seasons and the spectrum of emotions of the castle herself, one final time. 

A speck of white appeared over the lake. Harry watched as Hedwig made straight back toward the owlery. She settled on the wall next to him and ruffled her feathers in obvious irritation, shaking off the water before extending her leg to him. He unrolled the short bit of parchment. 

Harry - 

Will be at the shack at 10 p.m., as you requested. I noticed you didn't tell me what this was all about; I suppose I'll find out soon enough. Forgive me for saying so, but I doubt I'll like it. 

I'll see you and Hermione tonight. Don't get caught! 

Remus 

Harry stuffed the parchment in his pocket and offered Hedwig an owl treat before arising and dusting off his robes. He cast one last look at the vista spread out before him. The rain was coming harder now, greying the landscape and marring the surface of the lake. It was still the most beautiful place he'd ever seen. 

He would miss it. 

§ § § § 

He and Hermione sat together at lunch and ate as quickly as possible. Actually, he ate.  Hermione picked at her food, taking a few bites and then thrusting the plate away from her and fidgeting impatiently. 

"Are you nearly finished?" she asked. 

Harry shoved in a giant forkful. "Almost," he mumbled. 

"Hurry up. We can't miss Herbology, and I want a chance to talk before we go." 

"Done." Harry grabbed a roll and scraped his chair back. "We can go now." 

The two friends made excuses to their classmates before hurrying out of the Great Hall. Hermione pulled him down a deserted hallway. 

"Is everything set with Remus?" 

Harry nodded and swallowed a bite of the roll. "Yes. He's going to meet us at the Shack at ten tonight." 

"Fine. I have good news as well. I couldn't find anything in the library that would help with your wand. Unregistered wands are terribly illegal, and it's not the sort of thing they're going to show students how to do. I did, however, find a book in Severus's lab that was helpful. You know the history behind all of this is really quite interesting."

"Hermione," Harry groaned.

"Well it is!" she defended primly. "And since it involves you, in a way, I should think you'd take an interest. You know, they didn't even begin all this business of registering wands until after Voldemort's first rise. Once you reflected his curse back at him and folks thought he was gone, the Ministry had a terrible time sorting out who had actually done what. A number of laws changed around that time, and one of them was the law about every witch or wizard registering his or her wand with the Ministry. They don't track every wand all the time, but if someone is under suspicion, they can monitor that person's spells."

"So the only people who have registered wands are the people who were honest enough in the first place to go and register," Harry commented sarcastically.

"Well, yes," she admitted. "I didn't say it was a perfect law. Just that it was interesting. Anyway, the book I found in Severus's lab says that we don't have to make a whole new wand. The core is the unique thing about a wand, and that's the part that's registered. We just have to extract the current core and replace it with the one Severus gave you."

"How do you do that?" Harry examined his wand and didn't see even the slightest hint of a crack. 

"We'll have to do it in Severus's lab. The wand has to be heated to a precise temperature, bathed in a special potion, and then spelled to open. It's advanced magic, but it actually shouldn't take very long; maybe we can make the switch tomorrow after classes are over. Tonight we'll be busy with Remus." 

Harry nodded. "I'm going to try to see Dumbledore this afternoon to find out when Snape's hearing is going to be. He'll have been in touch with Fudge today to tell him that I agreed to his deal." 

"I hope it's soon," Hermione said. Her voice quivered with suppressed emotion, but Harry couldn't tell if it was rage or grief or some mixture of both. She wouldn't  meet his eyes and instead stared at one of the portraits just beyond him. "Every time I think of him in that horrible place…"    

"I know." Harry reached out a tentative hand and brushed her shoulder. "I'm going to get him out, Hermione." 

She looked at him then, and her eyes shone with a determination he recognized from long years of watching as she attacked a problem, relentlessly persisting until she got the results she sought. "No," she said firmly. "_We're_ going to get him out." 

§ § § § 

One of the advantages of being Head Girl was that Hermione wasn't bound by the same curfew as the other students. Thus, it was she who opened the portrait hole that evening and stepped through, leaving it open long enough for Harry, shrouded in the invisibility cloak, to follow behind her. Once they were both through the hole and she was out of Fat Lady's view, Hermione joined him under the cloak and they moved silently together through the draughty corridors of the castle. They were nearly to the entrance hall when Harry felt Hermione's shoulders begin to shake with repressed laughter, and at his sharp, reproving glance, she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle any possible sound. The shaking continued as they eased their way down a side corridor and out of a little-used door. 

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he hissed, once they were outside and somewhat removed from the threat of Filch and Mrs. Norris. 

She stopped in her tracks and laughed, still almost silently, until tears came to her eyes.   

"_Hermione_!" 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, finally. "While we were walking I was thinking of all the other times we've done that, and it suddenly occurred to me that we now have only half the threat of discovery." 

Harry's brow furrowed and he stared down at her. "What?" 

"Severus," she said, wiping her eyes. "All those times he nearly caught us sneaking around the castle…and now we're doing it to help him. Don't you see the irony?" 

"I…suppose," Harry said, looking at her as if she'd gone mad. "Can't say as I find it all that funny though." 

She took a deep shuddering breath. "It's not really," she assured him. "It's just…ironic." 

"All right, then?" 

She nodded, gathering control of her rampaging emotions. "I'm fine. Let's go." 

They took off together once again, years of practice enabling them to stay together and covered by the cloak, despite the fact that there was now a considerable difference in their heights. They crossed the soggy lawn, taking care to stay out of reach of the Whomping Willow, which twitched irritably as it sensed their approach. 

"_Accio_ branch," Harry whispered, his eyes lighting on one that had fallen onto the lawn in the rain that day. The branch sped toward him and he caught it in his outstretched hand, extending it toward the knothole in the trunk of the willow tree. The branches stilled, and they ran toward the gap in the roots. Hermione crawled in first, then Harry, wadding up the invisibility cloak and stuffing it under one arm. As they landed in the tunnel below, they lit their wands and moved as fast as they could through the low space in the direction of the Shrieking Shack. 

They saw the light ahead and followed it, emerging into the dingy room where Remus Lupin awaited them. He was pacing restlessly but paused as he heard their approach and smiled as they came into the room. 

"I'd have been happy to come to Hogwarts," he said, by way of greeting. 

"I know." Harry tossed down the invisibility cloak. "We need your help, but I didn't want anyone to know that you were involved." 

"I knew I wasn't going to like this," Remus said with a sigh. "What's up?" 

"They've taken Severus to Azkaban," Hermione said quietly. 

Remus's face darkened. "So that's what all that was about," he said. "At the Ministry the other day." 

"Yes," Harry answered, beginning to pace the small room. "Fudge has it in for Snape, and so does Horatio Barter. We all know that he's a rich and powerful wizard who is well-respected in the wizarding community." His voice was dripping with bitterness. "The fact that he was probably the one behind my kidnapping doesn't matter to anyone, so long as he continues to toss Galleons to the pet projects of our Minister." 

Remus nodded. "And Fudge also has it in for Severus because he knows that by prosecuting Severus, he's getting back at Dumbledore. Severus doesn't stand a chance." The words were out of his mouth before he quite realized what he'd said, and he shot Hermione an apologetic look. 

"It's OK," she said quietly. "There's no point in not being realistic. There's no way Severus can get a fair trial. We all know that." 

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Remus said gently. 

"Sorry enough to help us?" she challenged. 

"Help you do what?" 

"Help us free him."   

"You want to break him out of Azkaban?" Remus asked incredulously. "It can't be done." 

"Not out of Azkaban," Harry said. "Out of the Ministry." Briefly, he explained about the deal he'd been offered and about the plans they had already made. "I spoke with Professor Dumbledore today," he said finally. "The hearing is set for this coming Tuesday at 8 a.m., which means they should transfer Snape to the Ministry building on Monday night. We have four days to prepare." 

"What do you want me to do?" Remus asked, and the two friends glanced at one another, taking the question as an encouraging sign. 

"We want you to teach us to Apparate," Hermione said. "Harry thinks that will be the best way to get into the Ministry building." 

"It's probably the _only_ way. I think they close the Floo at night." 

"That's what I thought," Harry agreed. "But if we could Apparate in…" 

"I can teach you to Apparate," Remus said. "But what then? What if you're actually successful? Have you thought of that? Severus can't come back here." Golden eyes fell on Hermione then and forced her to meet their gaze. "He'll have to run, to hide, to live as Sirius did for so long. There's a good chance you'd never see him again." 

"I'll go with him," Hermione said, thrusting her chin out defiantly.   

"Hermione…" Remus began, and then he paused to collect his thoughts. "I don't pretend to know Severus. In fact, you might be the only person on earth who could make that claim. But I doubt that he would want you living your life on the run." 

"I will _not _let him go to Azkaban!" she exclaimed fiercely. "I won't. He cursed Finbar because of _me_ - because I went down into that basement against his express instructions. If I had listened to him, none of this would have happened." 

"Hermione, no," Harry said quietly. "That's not true." 

"It _is_ true!" she snapped, whirling on him. "And now I'm going to get him out of there if it's the last thing I do." Her voice broke and she looked at the two men pleadingly. "_Please_…please help me get him out." 

Remus looked at the distraught girl and nodded slowly. "I understand," he said softly. "I'll do whatever I can to help." 

Hermione blinked back the tears. "Thank you," she whispered.    

"So let's get started," Harry said, keeping his voice brisk in an effort to help Hermione regain her composure. "We need to get into the Ministry Monday night." He looked at Remus. "Are you sure we can apparate in at night? Is there someone on duty in the apparition chamber?" 

"I don't know," Remus answered. "I've never had occasion to go to the Ministry after hours. If no one is on duty, you won't be able to enter the building. The spell to open the passageway is changed every day and there's no way to circumvent it that I can think of. You'll need to be sure." 

"But if someone is on duty…?" Hermione said. 

"I'm sure we'll find whoever it is very cooperative." Harry's voice was grim and Hermione's eyes narrowed. 

"_Imperio_," she said flatly. "Harry…" 

"Hermione, if we do this, we're going to be breaking about a hundred laws. One more isn't going to matter." 

"Maybe I can find out if someone is on duty at night," Remus suggested. "Ask a few questions." 

"No." Harry shook his head. "Too risky. I told you - I don't want there to be the slightest chance that someone could tie you to this, and besides, those kinds of questions might make someone suspicious." 

"What if…" Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, and the two men waited while she finished thinking. "What if we apparated in during the day, when the Ministry is open, and then found someplace to hide? We could just wait until the place was closed and everyone had gone home, and then we could go after Severus." 

"That's not bad," Harry said, sounding pleased. "We could just cast a memory charm as we went through the portal." 

Remus shook his head. "Madam Stickler won't even open the portal without making a note of it in her log, and that notation goes straight to security. They'd know you were there before you had a chance to cast a memory charm." 

"Bugger all!" Harry began pacing. 

"There is a way, Harry, but you'll have to let me help," Remus said. 

"No! I don't want you involved in this." 

"Damn it, Harry! I _am_ involved. I've been involved in this for longer than you've been alive. Do you think I didn't take risks during the war? And what about Severus? Don't you think I owe him something too? He made Sirius's last hours as comfortable as he could, and then he went and found you when no one else could have. If I want to put myself at risk to help him, I bloody well can." It was unusual for Remus Lupin to raise his voice, much less to turn a look of anger on a friend. 

Harry drew back a little in surprise. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It's just…if anything happened to you…" 

"I understand," Remus said, more calmly now. "I feel the same way about you. I'm not happy about letting you do this, but I'm willing to let you try because I know how much it means…to both of you. Let me help." 

"What is it you want to do, Mr. Lupin?" Hermione asked. 

"Remus," he corrected gently. "What I think we should do is travel to the Ministry together that day, the three of us. I'll come up with some business I have to do there. That shouldn't be terribly difficult. The minute we get there, you two hide under Harry's cloak. Madam Stickler will have seen you, of course, so we'll cast a quick memory charm and she'll forget you were ever there. Then, when she opens the portal, we can all three go through. I'll go about my business, and you two can go hide until the building is closed." 

Harry and Hermione looked at one another. Hermione shrugged slightly and Harry sighed. "It's the best idea we've had so far," he said, a bit grudgingly. "I wish there were another way, but at least there will be a record of you leaving the building long before we go looking for Snape." 

"Now about that," Remus said. "You know he'll be guarded by at least one dementor." 

Harry nodded. "I'll be prepared this time. I'll hold off the dementor while Hermione wakes up Snape." 

"And then what?" 

Harry glanced at Hermione again and then looked back at Remus. "And then Snape will have to leave for a while, at least until Dumbledore sorts this mess out. I'm not sure where. Maybe he'll have some ideas." 

"You're planning to go with him, aren't you?" 

"Yes." Harry and Hermione spoke simultaneously, and Hermione looked at Harry in surprise. 

"Harry?" 

Harry looked at Remus and nodded. "I'm planning to go with him," he confirmed. "And regardless of what Dumbledore is able to accomplish, I'm not planning to come back." 

Remus bowed his head for a moment, and then he nodded. "Your mother didn't save you for the life you've had so far," he said quietly. 

Harry felt his throat constrict. He knew what that admission had cost Remus Lupin. Knew that when he was gone, Remus would have lost his last tie to the Marauders. He'd expected a battle - not this quiet acceptance - and his love for the man before him increased tenfold. 

"Thank you." 

§ § § § 

The next day was Friday. Harry and Hermione dragged themselves through their classes, giving each professor only a tiny fraction of their attention. For Hermione in particular this was unusual behaviour, and several of her teachers asked if she was feeling well. Their last class of the day was History of Magic, and while Harry fidgeted, impatient to be doing something more productive, Hermione surreptitiously reviewed the notes she had made from the book about wands. It was fortunate that the entire wand didn't have to be replaced - the proper wood had to be found, treated, and spelled to resist breakage and wear and tear, and that process took months, not days. Replacing the core was theoretically possible but not something that was often done, simply because there was rarely any legitimate reason for it. The book she had found had told how wands were made and included a single example of a core which had been changed when a young wizard wanted to use his grandfather's wand for sentimental reasons, but was unable to get satisfactory results from the core of dragon's heartstring. Unicorn hair had been substituted using the process Hermione was going to attempt that afternoon. If all went well, Harry Potter's wand would be completely untraceable by the Ministry. If all failed, Harry likely would be left with no wand at all. 

She had memorized the steps she planned to take by the time Professor Binns was halfway through his soporific lecture. She had been unable to concentrate on her class work that day, but she was making every attempt to focus all of her attention on Harry's wand and the initial tips Remus had given them on apparition. She had spent years conditioning her mind, disciplining herself to concentrate under almost any circumstances, but that preparation proved insufficient to keep her thoughts away from Severus. She'd never been to Azkaban, of course, but she knew that only a few months there could render a prisoner insane. She was horrified by the thought of Severus in physical pain, but knowing that his brilliant mind was in jeopardy was even worse. She had only just begun to discover that mind, to be captivated by its hidden beauty and complexity, to peek with delight into corners no one else had explored. And now, it was being pillaged – ruthlessly – by gluttonous creatures with no appreciation for the treasure they were destroying. Just thinking of it left her nauseous and shaking. 

She dragged her mind away from Severus and forced herself to run through the steps Remus had given them for apparition. It was much like any other magic - it required concentration and focus on the objective, which in this case was moving one's body from one place to another. Since the witch or wizard's body was the object being moved, lack of concentration could result in the body being splinched into separate pieces. There were plenty of jokes about witches and wizards who had splinched themselves, but should it happen to Harry or Hermione, it would be no laughing matter. Remus told them that he had no idea how to de-splinch someone; if it happened, the Ministry would have to be called, and the entire plan would be ruined. They had to get it right the first time, and then every time after that. Had the two students been anyone but Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, Remus probably wouldn't have agreed to teach them. They were to have their first lesson in the Shrieking Shack that night. 

Finally, _finally_, Professor Binns drew his lecture to a close, and as he faded from view Hermione hastily threw her books into her bag, watching out of the corner of her eye as Harry did the same. 

"Hermione?" 

She looked up and Parvati and Lavender were standing next to her desk. 

"Yes?" She knew she sounded impatient and tried to temper her tones. "What's up?" 

The two girls glanced at one another, and Hermione recognized it as their way of deciding which of them would speak. Apparently, Parvati received the cue. "Er…we just wanted to make sure you were all right," she said, giving Lavender another glance. "You've seemed a bit off lately." 

"Oh." She couldn't quite hide her surprise at the question. Generally, Lavender and Parvati paid her little mind, but since the lack of interest was decidedly mutual, it had never bothered her. They were civil enough, and polite about asking her for help with homework. Occasionally they borrowed from one another, and there had never been any unpleasantness about it. They had even been particularly kind to her when Ron had died and had let her know that they were grieving for their housemate too, albeit in a very different way. Never once, however, had they inquired about one of her moods or even seemed to notice that she had them. Her first thought was that it was a fine time for them to decide to take an interest, but then she forced herself to be fair…she'd certainly never exhibited such obvious symptoms of distress or, for that matter, extreme emotion of any other sort. "I'm fine," she lied. "Just a bit tired. I haven't been sleeping very well." That part, at least, was true. 

"We're going to get together with Padma and some of the other Ravenclaws for a girls' night tonight," Parvati said. "Would you like to join us?" 

The unexpected kindness brought the sting of tears to Hermione's eyes – ridiculously, since she hadn't even been able to cry about Severus since that first night in McGonagall's arms. She clamped her mouth together, willing her emotions back under control, suddenly feeling as if she might fall apart right there in Professor Binns' classroom. 

"Hermione was going to help me with my independent study tonight," Harry said, earning a look of gratitude from Hermione and one of accusation from Parvati. 

Hermione cleared her throat and willed her voice to be steady. "Thanks," she said to the girls. "I appreciate the invitation, but I did tell Harry I'd help him tonight." 

"And here I thought 'independent' meant _by yourself_." Lavender tried to sound as if she was teasing, but the look she gave Harry suggested otherwise. "Can't you go it alone for one night?" 

Harry looked uncomfortable, and Hermione came to his rescue. "I promised," she told Lavender quietly. "But maybe we can do it another time." 

"Sure," Lavender said, giving up. "Some other time." 

The two girls left then, and Hermione sighed as she watched them go. She had never felt entirely comfortable with the other girls in her House, but now she felt more distant than ever. Their offer, she knew, was kindly meant, but after her long conversations with Severus she couldn't imagine enjoying an evening with "the girls" spent giggling over boys who held no interest for her and discussing clothes and makeup, as if she cared a fig what she looked like. Such an evening would have held no interest for her even if she hadn't been preoccupied with far more serious matters. She remembered the conversation with Severus in which she had confessed her inability to fit in with her peers. He had understood - and had been, perhaps, the first person who ever had. She and Severus were both just what they were and seemed unable to be anything else, whereas Harry had the enviable ability to be both Hero and Everyman simultaneously. He could return from an interview with the _Daily Prophet_ and immerse himself – eagerly – in a Quidditch discussion or a childish prank. He had few deep friendships but a talent for getting on with almost anyone. Hermione had often admired his ease with people but knew that it had been denied her by some combination of nature and nurture, and there was very little to be done about it. Just as her friendships with Harry and Ron had been the salvation of her schooldays, finding a kindred spirit in Severus had seemed like the miracle that would transform the rest of her life. As Parvati and Lavender walked away, she realized she'd never felt so alone.  

"Hermione?" 

"Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to make you out to look like a prat." 

He smiled in understanding. "No problem. Are you ready to go?" 

"Yes." She gathered her books and led the way out of the classroom and down to Severus's lab in the depths of the dungeon. She gave the password and slipped into the room with relief; they had made it downstairs without being seen and here, at least, no one would bother them. It was easy, in this room, to hide from the world above – and as she lit the torches with a muttered charm, another memory assaulted her… 

"Do you ever get lonely down here?" she'd asked suddenly. 

"Of course not. What a ridiculous question." 

She shrugged. "I guess it is," she admitted. "But when you're used to being here as a student, you're used to constant noise and people. Being here between terms was strange for Harry and me. We eventually came to like it, but at first it seemed rather lonely. I just thought that being down here by yourself so much…well, you're right – it was a stupid question." 

"I spend precious few hours here by myself," he said. "During term-time I'm in class most of the day and in the Great Hall for meals, just as you are. My duties as Head of Slytherin take up a great deal of time as well. I assure you that whatever time I spend alone down here qualifies as the best part of my day." 

"It's very quiet," she observed. "I've noticed that in class before. You know that there's all this activity going on in the castle above, but you could never tell it being down here. The dungeons seem quite remote from the life of the castle. I suppose you like it like that." 

He hadn't answered her directly, she recalled, and now that she knew him better she wondered if the dungeon had been a hiding place for him – a place where he, too, could escape the fact that no matter how much time he spent with his fellow inhabitants of the castle, he didn't really belong. 

She shook off the memories; there was no time for that sort of reflection now, and no point to it even had there been time. She turned to Harry. "Let's get to work." 

§ § § § 

She couldn't move about the lab with total confidence since she'd only been there once before, but she was familiar with the general layout, and that helped her to set up her experiment fairly quickly. She gathered the ingredients for the potion first, and Harry nearly choked as he watched her measure them out. Snape had actually managed to pound some Potions information into his head, and he recognized that some of these things would cost a small fortune, if they could be obtained at all. Hermione said as much, glancing over to where he was perched on a nearby stool, sensibly keeping out of the way until he was needed. He watched as she got the potion under way and then lit a fire under a second cauldrons and carefully adjusted the temperature. 

"Are you sure my wand isn't going to catch fire?" he asked. 

"No." 

Harry sighed and stroked the length of holly that had become an extension of himself over the past six years, causing a shower of golden sparks to issue forth. The wand was worn satiny smooth where his hand gripped it and the wood had grown slightly darker in that spot. 

"When you're quite through fondling it…" Hermione said, rolling her eyes and holding out her hand. 

His reluctance obvious, Harry handed it over and watched as she spoke a charm to protect the wood from the heat and then placed the wand in the empty cauldron, which was covered so that the heat would be contained.   

"Like an oven," he noted. 

"Exactly. Mr. Ollivander and the other wand makers have special ovens built just for this purpose. I have to improvise. The trick is to make sure the temperature is exactly right. It would be easier in my mother's kitchen, actually." She gave the flames a critical look and used her wand to turn them down a notch. 

"Now what?" 

"We wait. Shouldn't take more than about ten minutes. In the meantime, I'm going to go over these spells one more time." She turned her attention to the parchment with her notes, and Harry subsided back into silence, glancing back and forth from the cauldron to Hermione, whose lips were moving as she subconsciously practiced the proper wand motions with her empty hand. At some point she had pulled her hair into a messy twist on top of her head, and he could see a bead of sweat rolling down her neck despite the cool of the room. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire, and there were purple smudges under her eyes from lack of sleep. Yet she was… 

__

_Beautiful_, he realized, as he formed a sudden mental image of her and Snape, working side by side in a laboratory. It was an epiphany, as what little he knew of Snape and all that he knew of Hermione finally converged as he watched his friend concentrate in the dungeon laboratory of the man she loved. Severus Snape had seen what a castle full of boys her age had somehow missed, and Harry's opinion of the potions master, already much altered, increased that much more. 

He started slightly as she set her parchment aside and then watched as she took a temperature reading and turned the flames down again. "Now I'm going to submerge the wand in the potion." She told him. "Just for a minute, and then I'll need your help." 

Harry recognized his cue and moved to her side. She had gone through Snape's supplies and set out everything she would need, so she was able to reach quickly for long forceps, which she used to lift the wand from the heated cauldron and move it to the other one with the potion. With her other hand, she flipped over a small hourglass, and they both watched as the sand dropped from one chamber to another, counting down the minute. When only a few grains were left, she handed the forceps to Harry. "I need you to lift the wand out of the potion and hold it steady while I cast the spell." Her voice was tight, tense; Harry once would have called it 'bossy' - would have teased her or perhaps even been foolish enough to ignore her, but now he obeyed without question. She maintained total focus as she reached for her wand and, without consulting her notes again, spoke a complicated incantation that meant nothing to him. 

He felt the spell's work before they saw it - felt the slight heat and vibration run through the forceps as the wand began to crack. "It's working," he said with obvious relief. 

"Don't sound so surprised," she said haughtily. She took the forceps from him and set the wand down on the workbench. Two distinct cracks ran the length of the wand, opposite one another, so that all she had to do was insert a fingernail to split the wand in two. At the very bottom, in a hollowed-out area, a crimson feather nestled. Hermione removed it with the forceps and placed it in a nearby vial so that it wouldn't be confused with the one Harry had brought with him. "Where's the new core?" she asked. 

Harry produced it, and then stepped back and watched from his stool as she replaced it and began a new round of incantations. The heating process had to be repeated, and it was thirty minutes before the wand was out of the cauldron and cool enough to touch with bare hands. 

"Go ahead," Hermione said, wiping her brow and pulling the clip from her hair now that her job had been completed. She made a _swish and flick_ motion. 

Harry reached for the wand eagerly, fitting it to the proper place in his hand and smiling at the familiar feel of it. 

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Honestly, Harry! Does it _work_?" 

He pointed the wand at an empty jar on Snape's workbench and said, "_Mobilarbus_." He smiled as the jar rose into the air, and then he lowered his wand and let the jar smash to the floor at their feet. 

"What did you do _that_ for?" Hermione tried to sound exasperated, but she was obviously feeling pleased with her success. 

"Because I can fix it," Harry said, pointing his wand at the mess. "_Reparo_." The jar reassembled itself in an instant, and Harry reached down and picked it up, handing it to Hermione. 

"I'd say it works," she said with quiet satisfaction, turning and beginning to straighten up the bench. 

"Never doubted you for a minute," Harry assured her, and then, "Snape will be proud." 

Hermione paused in her clean-up efforts, and then nodded slightly without turning around. "Thanks, Harry." 

"Dinner's in about a half an hour," Harry said, changing the subject. "I'll help you clean up." 

"No…thank you," she said, glancing at him then. "I'd actually like to be down here by myself for a while. Do you mind?" 

He shook his head. "No. I understand. Will you be in the Great Hall for dinner?" 

"Probably. But if not, I'll meet you in the Common Room in plenty of time to meet Remus." 

"Okay." Harry tucked his wand into his robes and gathered up his books. "Don't stay down here alone too long." 

"I'll be fine." 

§ § § § 

It was a relief to Hermione when the door shut behind Harry and she was left alone in the laboratory. As she moved around, cleaning up after the project, she was able to find solace in the tangible connections to the room's rightful owner. Severus was in every nook and cranny of this place, in every book, phial, and cauldron, and his presence there was a comfort to her. It was as if the room were expecting him back, and therefore, it must be so. Ridiculous, of course, but she clung to the notion nonetheless. 

She didn't bother with dinner, instead choosing to remain in Severus's lab, looking through his books. She didn't try to concentrate much on the texts, contenting herself with skimming through to capture their flavour and feeling her heart leap every time she encountered his handwriting in a margin. She barely made it to the Common Room in time to meet Harry, and he looked at her with concern. 

"Did you get anything to eat?" 

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry." 

"Starving yourself to death isn't going to help Snape," he said, taking care to keep his voice low. 

"I'm not starving," she said firmly, daring him to continue along that conversational path. "Let's go." 

Harry sighed and followed her through the portrait hole, resolving to speak to Professor McGonagall the next time he had the chance. Hermione hadn't told him everything she had discussed with their Head of House, but she had indicated that she had found some comfort in their late-night session. Perhaps McGonagall could get her to eat something…could make sure she was okay. 

They made their way out of Gryffindor Tower and through the castle, not bothering with the invisibility cloak until they were outside, since it was well before curfew. Remus was waiting for them in the Shrieking Shack again, and he greeted them with his gentle smile. "How did it go with the wand?" 

"It was brilliant," Harry enthused, holding it up for Remus's inspection. "You should have seen her. It was like she'd done it a hundred times." 

"I'm not at all surprised," Remus said, causing Hermione to flush slightly. 

"It was all in the book," she said dismissively. "I'll probably splinch myself tonight and we'll see just how useless book smarts really are." 

"I doubt that," Remus said, shaking his head. "I hope not, anyway. If we have to call the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, a fine will be the least of our problems." 

"I suppose you're right. When you're planning to break into the Ministry of Magic, a little thing like apparating without a license doesn't seem so bad." 

"It does rather put things in perspective," Remus agreed dryly. "OK, are you two ready?" 

"I think so." Hermione nodded. "I've studied the notes we made last night every chance I got." 

"Me, too," Harry said. Remus gave him a dubious look and he grinned. "I did. I swear." 

"The trick is to keep your concentration," Remus said. "No matter where you're going, you have to focus on your whole body, head to toe, leaving nothing out." 

"You told us last night," Harry said impatiently. "Let's _do_ it. Where are we going?" 

"Home," Remus answered. "My home. I thought it would help if you started out by going someplace you were familiar with. I want you to apparate to the kitchen of the house in Hogsmeade." 

"Okay." Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, and each took a deep breath as they reached for their wands. They closed their eyes and concentrated as hard as they could. Seconds later, Harry was standing outside the kitchen window of the house he had shared with Sirius and Remus for a brief time. He glanced inside and saw Hermione and Remus standing in the middle of the kitchen. Remus was grinning at him, and even Hermione's face had the hint of a smile. Remus crossed the room and opened the door. 

"Hi, Harry. Care to join us?" Remus asked mildly. 

"Oh sod off," Harry grumbled. "At least I'm still in one piece." 

"And I'm delighted." Remus chuckled. "Really. Well done for a first effort. We'll need to keep practicing though until you can consistently land in the right spot. It didn't matter tonight, but obviously, when you're apparating into the Muggle world, it matters a great deal. Once you've mastered that, I'll have you practice going places you're less familiar with and apparating with small objects in your hands." 

"I didn't find it difficult at all," Hermione said, with a familiar hint of superiority. Harry rolled his eyes.  

"All right," Remus said. "Now, back to the Shrieking Shack." 

They spent the next two hours popping back and forth between the Shack and various rooms of the house. Harry remained slightly less accurate than Hermione, but he improved as the night wore on, and Remus lost all fear that his students would splinch themselves. For their final attempt, he had them apparate to the kitchen again, and he bade them sit down while he put on a pot of tea. The three sat at the table together, and Harry was gratified to see Hermione actually nibbling at a biscuit from the plate Remus set before them. They talked quietly for a few minutes, and then Remus said that it was time they got back to the castle.    

"I'll clean up," he said, when he saw Hermione begin to clear the cups away. "You two go on. Why don't you each try carrying something with you when you go? Something small, of course. I think you're ready."   

Hermione glanced around. "I'll take this cup, I suppose," she said. "I'll bring it back tomorrow when we practice again." 

"That's fine. What about you, Harry?" 

"Just a second…" Harry disappeared into the sitting room, and Hermione and Remus heard some rummaging around before he returned with a small picture in a simple wooden frame. "May I…?" 

Remus reached for the picture, and his brows drew together as he studied it. It had been taken for the Daily Prophet on the day Sirius was exonerated and finally declared a free man. He stood between Harry and Remus, all three wearing the insignia of the Order, refusing to smile for the camera. Sirius looked more relieved than overjoyed, and very, very tired. Occasionally, he passed a hand over Harry's unruly hair, and the three of them glanced at one another, clearly wondering when they could get away. Later that day, they had laughed and celebrated, but just then, being able to stand in public next to a _human_ Sirius Black had held a touch of the surreal for all of them. 

"I think…it's the only one," Harry said with a slight shrug. 

"I understand," Remus answered, handing him the picture. "There are some other things of his…" 

Harry shook his head. "This is enough." 

"Thank you for the lessons, Remus," Hermione said, tactfully changing the subject. "We'll see you at the same time tomorrow." 

"Apparate directly here from the Shack tomorrow," Remus suggested. "We're going to venture a bit farther, and we can just as easily start here as there." 

"All right. See you then." Harry and Hermione looked at one another, gripped their respective items, and then disapparated, leaving Remus Lupin alone in the small cottage. 

§ § § § 

With the exception of the evening apparition lessons with Remus, Harry and Hermione had very little to do to occupy their time as they waited for Monday to arrive. When they were alone together, they were compelled to review their plan, but so much of it depended on the actual circumstances that there was really very little more they could do to prepare. Instead, they travelled the same tired conversational path, which seemed to increase their anxiety instead of lessening it. They were both on edge, and by Sunday they had reached the unspoken mutual decision to avoid one another for a while. Acting independently, they each made quiet preparations for leaving Hogwarts: returning library books and small items borrowed from housemates and making sure that their personal items were stored in their trunks. Hermione took refuge in Severus's laboratory, trying to lose herself in his books. Harry took to the Quidditch pitch, spending most of Sunday afternoon on his broom. They were both glad when night came, and Hermione took a sleeping potion out of Severus's lab; it was the only way she could be sure to be well-rested the next day. 

If classes had seemed to pass slowly on Friday, it was nothing to the way they crawled on Monday. The last class of the day was Herbology, and Harry and Hermione fled the greenhouse the instant Professor Sprout dismissed them, shaking off their classmates as quickly as possible with muttered excuses about Harry's independent study and hurrying back to Gryffindor Tower to make their final preparations. Crossing the lawn to get to the Whomping Willow was too risky in daylight, so they were going to use the passage to Honeydukes instead.  

A muttered "_Dissendium_" and a tap of Harry's modified wand opened the passageway, and Harry stood back to let Hermione slip through. He looked nervously at the small opening in the witch's hump; he was thin, certainly, but he had grown since he'd last used the passageway, and he had visions of being discovered wedged half-in, half-out of the one-eyed witch. He sucked in his breath and turned sideways, easing his shoulders through the hole and exhaling in relief as he felt his chest clear the narrow opening. He slid through easily, then, and down the stone slide, landing next to Hermione, who extended her lit wand while he gained his feet. He was tall enough now that he was unable to stand upright in the low passageway, so he stooped next to his friend as he lit his own wand. 

"Ready?" she asked. 

"Let's go." He led the way, proceeding carefully down the narrow, twisting tunnel. Twice Hermione grabbed at his robes to keep from falling, and once she nearly brought them both down in the process, but they finally felt the ground begin to rise and even out. "This is the last bit," Harry whispered. 

"I remember." Hermione kept her voice low as well, despite the fact that there was little actual need. Something about sneaking off the grounds through a dark passageway encouraged whispers, regardless of how little chance there was of them being overheard. 

"Here're the steps," he said, illuminating them with his wand. "I'm sure that means we're off the grounds. Let's disapparate from here and save ourselves the climb."    

"OK," Hermione agreed. 

A few seconds later, they were both standing in the living room of Remus's house. "Remus?" Harry called. 

"Coming." Remus's voice was accompanied by the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and then he was joining them, fastening his cloak about his shoulders. "You two got here quickly." 

"Are you ready?" Harry asked. 

Remus nodded. "I arranged a meeting with Perry Falco in Control of Magical Creatures. We're meant to be talking about additional research for a Lycanthropy cure…as if the Ministry would actually fund such a thing." He sighed. "I'm supposed to be there in ten minutes, so that should give us plenty of time to get you through the door."   

"What if there are other people in the apparition chamber?" Hermione asked nervously. 

"I can cast two memory charms as easily as one," Remus answered, "or even three, but let's hope it won't be necessary." 

"It's going to be fine, Hermione," Harry said.  

"Right." Hermione's knuckles were white where she gripped her wand, and her bottom lip was red and swollen from her teeth digging into it. This was more terrifying, even, than breaking into Finbar's cottage – perhaps because that the memory of that experience was still traumatic for her. She had learned her limitations that day and was now consumed with a writhing, twisting fear of failure. For once, that fear wasn't based on the fact that she might be caught breaking rules. She didn't care about being Head Girl. She didn't even care about being expelled. 

Saving Severus was all that mattered. 

"Let's go." Harry's voice held an unmistakable note of excitement, one she recognized from previous campaigns. He might hate being The Boy Who Lived, but there was, she knew, a part of Harry Potter that would always be drawn to adventure. What was terrifying for her, he found thrilling. The familiar light was in his eyes as he drew his wand and prepared to disapparate. 

She nodded once before closing her eyes, and when she opened them again she was standing in the drab apparition chamber of the Ministry of Magic, Harry and Remus by her side. 

"It worked," she murmured thankfully, stepping closer to Harry as he pulled the invisibility cloak from his knapsack. 

The witch on duty looked up at them with a perfunctory smile that became slightly more genuine as she recognized Harry. "Why, hello Mr. Potter, Mr. Lupin," she said. "How are you today?" 

"We're fine, thank you, Madam Stickler," Remus said pleasantly, extending his wand. 

Harry and Hermione disappeared under the invisibility cloak just as Remus wiped all memory of their arrival from Madam Stickler's mind. 

In the aftermath of the charm, she looked slightly confused. "Er, I'm sorry, Mr. Lupin…did you say you had an appointment?" 

"Yes. In Control of Magical Creatures." 

That information seemed to fluster the matronly witch even more, and she avoided looking at Remus as she made her usual notation and opened the portal. "There you are, then, Mr. Lupin." 

Remus thanked her politely and made a show of wiping his feet before crossing into the corridor, clearing his throat slightly at the same time to mask any sound Hermione and Harry might make as they moved past. 

He cast his eyes up and down the hallway and saw no one. "We're in luck so far," he said, his voice barely audible. "I'm going to go left to make my meeting. You two will want to head right. Do you remember the directions I gave you to get to MLE?" 

"Yes. We'll take it from here," Harry whispered. 

"Good luck," Remus said, and then he cleared his throat again – genuinely this time. "You two…take care." 

It was not the goodbye that any of them would have chosen, but it was all they were allowed. Before Harry could respond, a young wizard came around the corner and headed in their direction, and Remus moved away down the corridor and then out of sight. Harry and Hermione flattened against the wall until the wizard stepped through the portal that led to the apparition chamber. 

They both exhaled at the same time. "Hufflepuff," Hermione murmured. "Finished three years ago." 

"Beater." Harry said, by way of agreement. 

"Let's go." 

Harry had memorized the complicated directions to MLE, so he led the way, inasmuch as he could lead at all with both of them covered by the cloak. They stopped completely each time they saw someone in the hall, and once, they stood against the wall for at least ten minutes while two witches chatted nearby about their dates the previous weekend. 

Finally they were moving again, and despite the fact that there was no real hurry, they were both relieved when they reached the corridor marked "Magical Law Enforcement." They hadn't planned a specific hiding place, but when Harry saw two wizards entering the Hearing Room, he decided, on impulse, to follow them. There was a dangerous moment when the door stood open a bit longer than it should have, but no one seemed to notice.  

The Hearing room was by no means as crowded as it had been the first time Harry had seen it, when he had fallen into Dumbledore's pensieve. Instead, there were perhaps twenty witches and wizards scattered throughout the room. A few were following the activity at the front of the chamber, while others read the _Daily Prophet_ or skimmed various parchments. An older wizard was testifying, accusing a neighbour of allowing his pet Crup to wander at will, damaging the gardens of those unfortunate enough to live around him. 

"Over there," Harry whispered into Hermione's hair. He led the way to the emptiest section of the room, well away from the door, and they settled together on a bench. The old man was followed by an even _older _man – the neighbour apparently – who issued a vehement defence of his pet. Harry would have taken a nap, but he was afraid he'd give them away by snoring. 

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly, with two more dull cases brought before the Magistrate, but finally the last witness had been called and the room began to empty out. Harry and Hermione sat frozen in their seats for a half an hour after everyone had gone and the lights had been extinguished.    

"What time is it?" he whispered finally. 

She glanced at her watch. "Five forty-five." 

"Most everyone should be gone by now. Do you want to stretch your legs?" 

She shook her head. "Not yet. Let's give it a little while longer." 

"Can you believe how easy this was?" Harry exulted. "Everything's going just as we planned." 

"You're allowed to say that once we have Severus," she said. "Not before." 

"We'll get him. We'll wait a little longer, and then we'll go right through that door." He pointed through the filmy covering of the invisibility cloak to the door that led to the small room he and Remus had occupied the day he'd given his testimony. 

"Do you think he's back there already?" Hermione asked. 

"Likely. Let's wait another hour, and then we'll go." 

The minutes passed slowly, with the two friends making occasional stilted attempts at conversation. Harry noticed that Hermione's eyes remained trained on the door, as if she thought Snape might walk through at any minute. 

Finally, Harry decided they'd waited long enough. "Let's do it," he said, drawing his wand. 

Hermione stood up immediately, retrieving her own wand from her pocket with a shaking hand. Harry noticed the slight tremor and the spots of colour on her cheeks. "Are you all right?" he asked. 

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Let's go." 

They pulled off the invisibility cloak, and Harry tucked it back into his bag before following her to the door. She eased it open, careful not to make any sound, and the two friends stepped into the small room where Harry and Remus had waited the previous week. 

"It's that door," Harry said, pointing. 

She nodded and approached the door, reaching for the knob as Harry drew his wand, preparing to cast a Patronus. 

"Locked," she said, when the knob wouldn't turn. 

"_Damn_. It was open before." 

"What do you think? Should we try to open it magically?" 

"Don't have much choice, do we?" Harry asked. 

"It's probably a password of some sort," Hermione said slowly. "And in that case, there's no chance we'll figure it out. What if…?" 

"What if _what_?" 

"What if I use the spell Severus taught me in Ireland? The one I used to get you out." 

If she was looking for arguments against using Dark Magic, she'd come to the wrong place. "Brilliant!" Harry exclaimed. "Do you remember how to do it?" 

"I think so." She drew her wand and focused on the door. 

"Wait," Harry hissed, grabbing her arm, and the minute the word left his mouth she heard what he had…voices coming from behind one of the other doors. 

Harry scrabbled frantically through his bag, snatching out the invisibility cloak and throwing it over them as they moved backward, away from the door. Hermione smashed one hip into the side of the table and smothered a cry of pain. 

"Sorry," Harry whispered, wincing at the sharp crack of bone meeting wood. "Let's get behind the table, away from all the doors." He pulled her down with him just as the door opened and two Aurors entered, a stunned Severus Snape hanging in mid-air between them. He heard her sibilant intake of breath and clamped his hand hard around her upper arm, silently imploring her not to make another sound. 

Snape looked dreadful. Every unattractive feature seemed to have been accentuated during his brief stay at Azkaban, and greasy hair fell in a sweep against a hollow cheek shadowed by uneven stubble. Harry could feel Hermione quivering with the effort it took to suppress the instinct to go to him, and he maintained his grip on her arm as if to hold her in place by force. 

"…get him in there and get home," one of the Aurors was saying. "Wife'll have my head for being this late." 

"Bloody paperwork at Azkaban seems to get worse every day," the second Auror agreed. "What's the password today?" 

"Mmmm, think it's 'carousel.'" 

"Bet Sheila came up with that. OK, _carousel_." He pointed his wand at the door and it swung open. The Auror's voice took on a harsh tone then as he moved into the doorway. "Stay back, then, until we get him delivered. After that he's all yours." 

He was talking to the dementor, they realized. Hermione whimpered slightly, and Harry shook his head at her. Things were going perfectly - they knew the password now, and there was no reason why they couldn't go get Snape the minute the Aurors left. One Auror moved through the door while the other guided Snape through with his wand. 

"Put him down there – the first bed," they heard, the voice slightly muffled now. Harry had relaxed his grip on Hermione's arm, but grabbed her again when they heard a shout of surprise come from the next room. 

"Where did he go?" 

"…whole effing bed is gone!" 

Both Aurors began talking and swearing at once. There was a confusing jumble of sound as they decided what the proper course of action was in the unprecedented event of a prisoner disappearing into thin air. Having apparently decided…something, they stormed out of the room with their wands out, giving the small chamber a cursory check and then dashing through opposite doors. 

Harry could feel Hermione shaking beside him. "Harry?" she whispered. 

"We have to get out of here, Hermione. _Right now_."  
  


* * *

 _A/N:  Double beta thanks this time!  My faithful beta-reader extraordinaire did her usual wonderful job and also once again came up with the chapter title. I actually had one this time, but hers was better.  (Of course.) Thanks friend! And a huge thanks to SilentG for giving this the twice-over and making some very helpful additional comments. You ladies are both wonderful.  
  
Sorry about the time elapsed between posts. I hope the long chapter makes up for it somewhat. It will probably be several weeks before I update again, but I am working on it - promise!_

  
  


  



	25. The Isle of Pillars

The Isle of Pillars

In hindsight, all Harry could remember was the rush of adrenaline that accompanied their panicked exit of the Ministry. There was no calculated escape this time; there was only Harry's driving impulse to get away from whatever it was that had just occurred. He had been prepared to accept the blame for Snape's escape, but he wasn't eager to take the blame for someone else. Hermione, who had always before been his mainstay of common sense and clear thinking, was barely coherent after catching a glimpse of Snape only to have him snatched away. It was up to Harry to get them both out of there. 

The Ministry, which had been ponderously silent only moments before, immediately came to life. They heard the first stirrings as they gained the Hearing Room; the stirrings then became a rumble of activity - a blend of pounding footsteps, shouts of mystification and outrage, and muffled curses. Aurors who had been called away from their dinners seemed unhappy creatures indeed, and they vented their unhappiness on one another since no more suitable target presented itself. 

Determined not to become that target, Harry urged Hermione out of the Hearing Room and down the hall, both of them hugging the walls and hardly daring to breathe beneath the invisibility cloak as the Aurors stampeded past. 

He was too frantic to remember Remus's directions in reverse, so he just moved away from MLE, wanting to put as much distance as possible between them and the centre of the investigation. He turned down corridor after corridor until he was thoroughly lost, but he was encouraged by the fact that they could no longer hear the Aurors. 

"All right, then?" he whispered to Hermione, giving her arm a squeeze and slowing their pace slightly in an effort to get his bearings.

"Of course I'm not all right!" she hissed. "What _happened _back there?"

"I have no idea. Maybe Dumbledore…?"

"You really think so?"

"I _hope_ so," Harry said. "Who else would it be?"

"Oh please let it have been Dumbledore," she chanted. "Please, please, please…"

"We've got to get out of here to find out," Harry said grimly, "and I'm betting they've sealed the place off."

"What are we going to do?"

"Hide out for the rest of the night, I suppose, and pray they don't find us."

They fell silent then and kept walking, looking for somewhere to hide but passing one locked door after another.

"Harry, look!" Hermione pointed through the haze of the cloak at a door. It looked just like every other door they'd seen except for the small placard outside: **Misuse of Muggle Artifacts: A. Weasley**.

Harry looked at the door then back at Hermione before nodding. "We've a better chance there than anywhere else," he agreed, "but can we get in?"

"Give me your wand." Harry handed the wand over, and Hermione circled it three times counter-clockwise. "_Espasé Meno_." She was terrified - completely terrified - of attempting a Dark spell for only the second time using someone else's wand, and she held her breath until the door opened with a quiet _snick_. 

"Good one to know," Harry said, taking his wand out of her shaking hand. 

"If you're interested in spending time in Azkaban," she agreed bitterly.

Harry ignored her and led the way into Arthur Weasley's office. "_Lumos_." He closed the door behind them and shed the invisibility cloak as he cast his wand around. It was a simple office, nowhere near as luxurious as Auror Davenport's had been. There was a serviceable desk, Mr. Weasley's worn chair behind it, and two chairs in front of the desk for visitors. The shelves behind the desk held such a bizarre assortment of Muggle items that had they not known Arthur Weasley personally, they would have been certain that the office was inhabited by a lunatic. A motley collection of plugs held pride of place, which was to be expected; other shelves held an ancient telephone, three staplers, at least two toasters, and, of all things, an outdated video game system. Many of the items were serving as bookends.

On a small table beside the desk stood several family photos, and Harry glanced at these and then looked away. He saw Hermione do the same but didn't comment. Later, perhaps, they could afford to indulge the wave of grief that came from the sight of the nine red heads together in one frame and the reminder that their number had been reduced by one. Later. Just then, it was one thing too many.

"Should we hide, d'you think?" Harry asked.

"Let's sit on the floor behind the desk. If we hear anyone coming, we can cover up with the invisibility cloak."

"Good."

They moved Mr. Weasley's desk chair slightly to make room, and then sat cross-legged with their backs against his bookshelf. Once they had settled, Hermione put her face in her hands. "Harry, what do you think happened?" She spoke through her fingers.

"I don't know." It was the only answer he could give.

"Surely it was Professor Dumbledore…he could have…well, I don't know _how _he could have done it, exactly, but surely…"

"I don't _know_," Harry repeated. "It could have been Dumbledore, I suppose, but he knew we were planning something. Wouldn't he have told us if he was going to do something like this?"

"But if it wasn't Dumbledore, then who? There was no way Severus could have done it. He was…" she pressed a hand to her mouth and paused a moment to collect herself. "Oh Harry! Did you see how he looked?"

"He was stunned, Hermione. I'm sure it looked worse than it was."

"You know," she said, staring at one of the drawer-pulls on Mr. Weasley's desk. "I don't think I really knew how much I loved him until I saw him like that and couldn't do anything to help. He was almost close enough to touch, and I just sat there."

"You had to," he said. "It wouldn't have helped him if we'd given ourselves away."

"We should have cast _Ennervate_," she said. "We should have awakened him. Maybe the three of us would have had a chance."

"Against two Aurors and at least one Dementor? And with Snape in the shape he was in? I doubt it. We'd have all just gotten in more trouble. At least this way there's a chance. You know, I bet Dumbledore has Snape right now," he said in a more cheerful voice. "They're probably sitting around drinking tea, wondering where we are. Snape'll probably deduct points the minute he sees us."

Hermione made a choked sound and hugged her knees to her chest. "You don't really believe that."

"Sure I do."

She turned to face him then and slowly shook her head. "No. You don't."

Harry gave in. "Wherever he is, we'll find him."

"But what if he's…"

"Don't," Harry insisted. 

Hermione nodded and fell silent. The same scene played itself out in an endless loop for the rest of the night: Speculation, frustration, and finally silent resignation, until the need to speculate built up again, only to be released in a new spate of conversation. 

Occasionally they heard the sound of footsteps going down the hall, but as the hours passed and no one entered Mr. Weasley's office, they stretched out a bit and made themselves more comfortable on his floor. 

Neither of them slept; their eyes were bleary with fatigue by the time they heard footsteps directly outside Arthur Weasley's door. They hurried to pull the invisibility cloak over their heads and held their breath as the door opened and Mr. Weasley came in. He left the door open behind him as he made his way toward his desk, setting down the sack lunch Mrs. Weasley had packed and then moving around to his chair. Harry popped his head out of the cloak, and Mr. Weasley gave a yelp of surprise.

"Could you close the door please, sir? We need your help."

Years as the parent of six boys had conditioned Mr. Weasley to react with rather less surprise than another man might in a similar situation. He gathered control of himself quickly and closed the door. "All right, Harry. What's this all about?"

Harry and Hermione emerged from the cloak, and he gave them a fond - if somewhat wistful - look and shook his head. "It's a good thing Molly isn't here. She'd skin you both alive. What have you gotten up to now?"

"Sir, have you seen the Aurors searching the building?" 

He shook his head. "I didn't notice anything unusual in this wing. Why?"

"Professor Snape was transferred here last night from Azkaban," Harry said. "We were going to try to rescue him, but he disappeared the moment they put him on the bed in the holding area. We figure someone must have turned it into a Portkey."

"Professor Snape is being held for murder, Harry. From what I hear, it's an open and shut case. Why on earth were you trying to rescue him?"

"There's nothing open and shut about it," Harry snapped. "The public doesn't know the half of it; they only know what Fudge and Horatio Barter want them to know. Snape killed Neilus Finbar to save my life and Hermione's. They ought to be giving him an Order of Merlin."

Mr. Weasley frowned. "I believe you, Harry, but not many other people will."

"I know, sir. That's why we were trying to just get him out of here. But someone else got to him first. It might even have been Professor Dumbledore. We don't know and can't know until we get out of here. Can you help us?"

"Hmm. Well, if the Aurors have been searching the building, they'll probably be monitoring the main apparition chamber. But there is another one down this way. Very few people even know about it." He smiled. "It was put in as a convenience to those of us who are stuck in the back offices. But there's no Floo - just the chamber."

"We can Apparate," Hermione told him. It wasn't that they didn't trust Arthur Weasley, but it was best not to mention Remus, even to him. 

"Good. That's immensely helpful. Crawl under that cloak and follow me." 

They did as they were told and then waited as Mr. Weasley rummaged through a pile in one corner of his office. He finally produced a large roll of some sort of glossy paper. "All set," he said, giving the roll a satisfied shake. "This should do the trick."

He led the way down the hall and through an unmarked door. The Apparition chamber was a smaller version of the one they had used before, and once again there was a witch on duty.

"Stella!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed. "I have something here to show you. Really a find, I'll tell you." He unrolled the paper and held it in front of her, completely blocking her view of the room. "It's a Muggle movie poster! Isn't it wonderful? Look at those pictures - how they just _sit_ there on the page! You know, I was just saying to Molly the other day…"

Harry and Hermione were gone before they could hear what it was that he and Molly had been discussing.

§ § § §

They Apparated to the passage to Hogsmeade and after briefly considering going to see Remus, they decided instead to make their way back to the Hogwarts castle. "If we head straight to the Great Hall, we might get there in time for breakfast," Harry said. "We can see Dumbledore afterwards."

But as soon as they emerged from the opening behind the One-Eyed Witch, they came face to face with their Head of House, who looked desperately relieved by their appearance and at the same time as panicked as they'd ever seen her.

"Thank goodness you're back!" she exclaimed. "I'll not ask for details now. Just come with me." She grabbed them each by an arm and whisked them toward the stairway to Dumbledore's tower, talking all the way. "I found you in the library," she said breathlessly. "You fell asleep studying last night, and I awakened you just now."

"Wha…?" Harry said.

"Pay attention, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall hissed fiercely. "You stick to that story. No one must know that you were off the grounds last night. You were in the library, do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry said. He and Hermione exchanged a bewildered glance and then made an effort to compose their expressions as they took the staircase to Dumbledore's office. McGonagall pushed the door open and then gestured them inside. 

"I've found them, Headmaster."

Dumbledore rose from his desk and smiled benevolently at his two errant students. "I had a feeling they would turn up," he said, and it was then that they noticed Cornelius Fudge also rising and glowering at them. "And where were they, Professor McGonagall?"

"Asleep in the library, Albus. Apparently they were studying too late last night."

"I don't believe it for a minute," Fudge snapped. "They _both_ fell asleep? The night before Mr. Potter was supposed to give his testimony?"

"I was helping Harry with his independent study, sir," Hermione offered, furrowing her brow in earnest confusion. "He has a great deal of new material to cover, and Professor McGonagall has given us permission to stay out past curfew to work on it. I don't quite see how Harry's testimony has anything to do with it…I mean, it's not like we _meant_ to fall asleep."

"Yes, well perhaps in future you should attempt to work in the Gryffindor Common Room," McGonagall said reprovingly. "I certainly did not intend that you two should go falling asleep all over the castle. We've been quite worried about you, and I'm afraid I shall have to deduct ten points apiece for your carelessness."

"Yes, Professor," Harry muttered, hanging his head in an attempt to look suitably chagrined. "Er, is that all? I should probably get changed before I have to testify."

"There won't be any hearing!" Fudge snapped, beginning to pace restlessly. "As I suspect you already know. Albus, do you have any proof that these students were actually in the library?"

"You mean, aside from the word of our Deputy Headmistress?" Dumbledore said lightly. 

Fudge got very red in the face then, and Harry ventured a question, making his eyes wide and innocent behind his glasses. "Minister Fudge, why isn't there going to be a hearing?" 

"Severus Snape was taken from the Ministry last night," he snapped. "He was being moved from Azkaban for the hearing this morning, and someone turned his bed into a Portkey. We have no idea where he is now."

"And you think _we_ had something to do with that?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"I think that the only people in the world who give a fig about whether Snape lives or dies are in this room. So yes, Miss Granger, I think one or more of you had something to do with it, and when I find out who, I can assure you that charges _will_ be pressed." He let his gaze travel over each of them in turn, finally settling on Dumbledore, and finished in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "Regardless of how…_exalted_ that person might be."

"Thank you, Cornelius," Dumbledore said firmly. "I think you've cast enough aspersions here for one day. We have nothing further to tell you, other than to wish you great luck in your search for Severus. It was really quite irresponsible of you to have misplaced him, and I shall be sorely vexed if he doesn't turn up. The man deserves a fair trial, after all."

Fudge gave Dumbledore a look that positively radiated hatred, and then he turned on his heel and tossed Floo powder into the fireplace without bothering to say goodbye.

The room was still for a moment after Fudge left, and then the tension dissipated and everyone relaxed into smiles at once. Hermione grinned at Harry, and he squeezed her arm. Everything was going to be all right now.

Dumbledore chuckled out loud as Minerva McGonagall sank into a chair and dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief, and then he and Harry both spoke at once.

"So, where is he?"

The smiles faded as quickly as they had come.

"Sir?" Hermione asked shakily.

"I thought…" Dumbledore took in their terrified expressions and his own face crumpled with grief. "I'm sorry. I assumed you children had him."

"No sir," Harry said, shaking his head slowly. "We tried, but someone else got there first. We…we thought it was you."

Hermione began to cry, a choking sound that brought McGonagall immediately to her side. Dumbledore removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily and then looked at Harry.

"Perhaps you should tell me what happened last night," he said quietly.

Harry did, telling the Headmaster everything, even Remus's part in the scheme. When Dumbledore had heard it all, he sighed. "I don't know for certain who has Severus now, but there was some truth to what Fudge said here earlier. The only people who want to help him are here in this room. For anyone else to have taken him…"

The Headmaster didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to.

§ § § § 

"_Ennervate_."

Snape's eyes flew open but focused slowly, the swirl of grey gradually gaining form and taking on a craggy solidity. He reached out instinctively, touched the wall in front of him with a brush of fingertips, and then pulled his hand away from the cool, damp stone. It had been some time since he had been to the Ministry, but every sense was telling him this wasn't it. He smelled earth and damp and heard the sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance, but his first feeling was one of profound relief that wherever he was, there apparently was no dementor nearby. His mind felt clear for the first time since his arrest, but weary and abused, thrumming in the sudden silence. He was comfortable, actually, and thought he might as well go to sleep and hope that he would wake up with more energy. His eyes drifted shut.

"I must say, Severus, you've seen better days. Apparently Azkaban didn't agree with you."

A familiar voice. Mocking. He couldn't place it immediately; he knew from experience that it would be a while before he was able to control his memories and his thought processes. The effects of the dementors should wear off soon, particularly since he had only spent a few days in Azkaban, but in the meantime he felt as if he were thinking in slow motion.

He needed to find out where he was and who was with him. That was clear enough. He blinked again at the stone wall and then leveraged his hands against the mattress beneath him to push himself upright. Mattress…bed…no wonder he was comfortable. He raised himself to a sitting position, wincing as his head throbbed with the sudden movement. The dementors left him feeling hung-over, with none of the enjoyment that should come with getting thoroughly pissed. When the pain subsided and he was able to open his eyes again, the stocky figure before him swam for a moment before coming into focus.

Horatio Barter stood with his hands thrust into the side pockets of his robes. They appeared to be in a cave of some sort, the only illumination coming from a single candle spluttering on a set of ramshackle shelves. Snape's brow creased with concentration but he couldn't come up with a single explanation for where he was or why Barter was there.

"Horatio," he managed, his voice rusty from disuse.

"I should think your first words would be 'Thank you.' After all, I was good enough to free you from the dementors, and at some personal risk."

Snape raised an eyebrow at that. "You don't do anything at 'personal risk' unless there's something in it for you." 

Barter chuckled. "Quite," he said. "And this is no exception. Frankly, I'd prefer to see you rot in Azkaban. That's certainly where you belong."

"Something you and I have in common, then."

"Touché," Barter said pleasantly. "However, the difference between us is that _you_ already have a room reserved."

"On the whole, I think I'd rather be there than here," Snape said wearily. "What do you want, Horatio? You went to a lot of trouble to get me thrown in Azkaban."

"Yes, I did. And I'd have left you there if any of the men in my employ had been able to make sense of the few notes Neilus left in my care."

Snape sighed and put his face in his hands. "The bloody potion. That's what this is about."

"Indeed it is." Barter's voice took on a hard edge. "I went to a great deal of trouble and expense to help Neilus develop that potion, Severus, and you and your little Mudblood undid years of hard work when you broke into that cottage. Now you're going to make it up to me."

"No, I'm not," Snape said quietly, raising his eyes to Barter. "Kill me or send me back to Azkaban, as you please, but I will not make that potion for you."

"You will, actually. Do you really think you're in any condition to resist _Imperio_? And once the potion is made, I plan on letting you be the first to sample it. You killed my potions master, so you can step up and take his place."

"I may not be able to resist _Imperio_ now, but neither am I in any condition to do the research and make the calculations necessary to make the potion. By the time I am, I can promise you that every bit of energy I possess will be directed toward resisting that curse. I will _not _make the potion, Horatio."

Barter's eyes narrowed, and he pulled out his wand. It took all of his self-control, but Snape held himself steady. 

"As it happens," Barter said, "I anticipated your stubbornness on this point. If you won't do it for me - one of your father's oldest friends - perhaps you will do it for your dear _cousin_. What do you say, Severus? You make the potion, and I'll let the Mudblood live."

"She's at Hogwarts. You can't touch her there."

"She's at Hogwarts _now_," Barter said. "But next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend, and there she'll be mine for the taking." 

"She's nothing to do with this." Snape said in a low voice. "She's just a girl - a student."

"Oh, I think she's a great deal more than that – to _you_, anyway. I always wondered how you could stand working for that barmy old coot. I should have known the job had other…compensations." 

"She was with me because I was searching for Potter," Snape said coldly, willing the other man to believe him. "She is my student, nothing more, and taking her will accomplish nothing."

"Well, perhaps not," Barter said lightly, "but once I have her, there's no reason I shouldn't enjoy her."

Snape's stomach lurched violently; had he eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours, it certainly would have ended up on the floor of the cave. He fought to keep his expression neutral but was unable to speak. 

"Perhaps you'd like to watch?" Barter offered.

Snape bit through the side of one cheek and tasted warm blood, but he met Barter's dark eyes without flinching and managed to remain silent.

Barter pointed his wand at a spot just to one side of Snape's bed, and with a murmured incantation a small table and a tray of food appeared. "Eat, Severus. You'll need your strength. One way or another, you'll be going back to work very soon. In the meantime, I wouldn't try to leave this room if I were you. It's guarded by some fairly unpleasant creatures. Frankly, even I don't dare go near them."

With that, Barter turned and ducked into a low passage, disappearing from sight. Snape heard Barter's footsteps and then, distantly, the sound of him calling out to someone.

When the sounds faded, Snape spat out the blood from his mangled cheek and felt his stomach flop at the sight of the food. He took a deep breath and reached for the plate, examining it carefully before taking the first bite. He didn't really think Barter would bother poisoning him – after all, he was already at the older man's mercy – but if he was being dosed with something, he preferred to have some inkling of it ahead of time. He could detect nothing, however, and finally he began to eat, realizing that he needed sustenance if he was to have any hope of thinking clearly again and resisting Barter.

When he had finished, he sat with his back against the wall, examining his small prison. Without his wand, he was virtually helpless. He might attempt to make his way down the passageway but he knew better than to think Barter had been joking about the animals guarding it, and it was certain to be warded anyway. He would investigate that avenue when he had a bit more strength, but he held little hope of it yielding results.

He remembered his earlier impulse to sleep and wished he could indulge it now, but the thought of Hermione walking into Barter's hands was enough to deny him that comfortable oblivion. Instead he sank back onto the bed and pillowed his arms behind his head, wishing with all his might that he was still in Azkaban.

§ § § § 

"You have to eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

"Hermione…"

"Leave me alone, Harry. I don't want to eat!"

"Shhh." Harry glanced around at their housemates, who were beginning to fill the seats around them, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I know you're worried, but starving yourself to death isn't going to do Snape any good."

"Fine!" She fixed Harry with a glare and shoved a bite of eggs into her mouth. "Are you happy?"

Harry sighed and returned to his own breakfast. He made a mental note to speak to Professor McGonagall. It had been twenty-four hours since their return from the Ministry, and there had been no word of Snape. Dumbledore's sources knew nothing, and Fudge hadn't returned with any new information from the Aurors. Hermione had eaten hardly a bite in that time; Harry was frankly worried. Obviously, he wasn't going to be able to make her take care of herself.

Owl post arrived while he was eating and Hermione was shoving the food around her plate, and he – like everyone else - automatically looked up in expectation. No, nothing for him, but a large barn owl swooped down and settled at Hermione's plate, offering his leg. 

She glanced at Harry and then quickly removed the small roll of parchment. Her brow creased as she began to read it through once, and then again, with increasing excitement.

Dear Hermione,

I need to speak with you – privately, if possible. There's a storage room in the dungeons, two doors down from the entrance to the Slytherin Common room. I'll be in there at noon on Wednesday. Please try to meet me there. It's to do with your cousin.

Gregor King

"Harry!" Her voice quavered, and she held out the parchment with shaking hands. "Read this." 

Harry took the parchment, read it quickly, and then looked at her with eyes that were huge behind his glasses. "That's today."

"I know! Harry, he knows something about Severus! This is wonderful."

"Wait a minute," Harry said. "You're not going down there alone. He works for _Barter_. How do you know you can trust him?"

"Well, I don't," she admitted. "Not completely, anyway, but I think…I really think he must want to help."

"Fine. Then he won't mind talking to me, too."

Hermione bit her lip for a moment and then nodded. "You're right. Come with me."

The storage room was apparently a place for the Slytherins to store extra baggage and supplies. Outdated racing brooms were propped against a jumble of owl cages and trunks, and a battered old sofa sat in one corner. The two friends were waiting, both pacing impatiently in the small space, when Gregor King slipped in, quickly shutting the door and casting a locking charm.

"'Lo Hermione," Gregor said, looking relieved to see her. "Potter. Figured you'd be here too."

Harry nodded but couldn't respond before Hermione rushed up and said, "Gregor, please! Do you know where Severus is?"

Gregor nodded. "Mr. Barter has him. I saw him yesterday."

"I knew it!" Hermione said viciously. "Where? Where is he?"

"He's on an island off the coast of Wales," Gregor said quietly. "It's owned by Mr. Barter now, and he uses it as a sanctuary for some of our magical creatures. He sent my partner and me there yesterday to deliver a Chimaera we found in Greece last month. He specifically wanted it roaming the palace."

"The palace?" Harry asked.

"It's abandoned now. The island used to belong to the giants, back when there were giants in the U.K. There's an old palace still there, but it's in pretty bad shape now. Anyway, I did what he asked, but before we released the Chimaera I told James I wanted to check around to make sure that there weren't any places she could wander where she might hurt herself. I found an open tunnel and was going to block it to make sure she wouldn't get stuck in there somewhere, but I decided to check it out first. It led to a cavern – a place where the giants apparently used to store wine. Professor Snape was in there, lying on a bed. He was either stunned or sleeping - I couldn't really tell."

"Why didn't you _help_ him?" Hermione asked, clenching her hands into tight fists and barely controlling her voice.

Gregor hung his head. "I wanted to, Hermione. I swear. But James started calling for me, and I knew I couldn't just then. James is Mr. Barter's nephew…he's a decent enough guy to work with, but his loyalty to Mr. Barter is absolute. I decided it was best to just pretend I hadn't found anything and to get here to you as soon as I could. I mean, I'd seen all that stuff in _The Prophet_ about how Snape somehow managed to escape…it never occurred to me that Mr. Barter had anything to do with it."

"He didn't _escape_," Harry snapped. "He was kidnapped, and Barter had _everything_ to do with it. Can you help us get him out? We'll go to the island right away."

Gregor nodded. "I'll go with you. It'll probably cost me my job, but I don't care. I knew some of Mr. Barter's businesses were a bit dodgy, but I never thought he'd be involved in something like this."

"Gregor, are you sure he was just stunned?" Hermione asked. "He wasn't…?"

"He was breathing," Gregor promised. "And I did block the tunnel. The Chimaera can't get in there."

Hermione nodded, and her face told everything she wasn't saying. "Let's go," she urged. 

"Wait a minute," Gregor said. "You two can't Apparate, and there's no way to Floo in."

"We _can_ Apparate," they said in unison.

Gregor nodded and appeared relieved. "Good, but can you do it with a broomstick in hand? We may need them when we get to the island. Some of it's rough going."

Hermione nodded. "Harry, you get us all brooms and meet Gregor and me just inside the passageway to Hogsmeade. We can Apparate from the steps like we did last time."

"Hermione…" Harry looked from Hermione to Gregor, wondering for a moment how to tactfully say what he was thinking. To hell with tact, he decided. "How do we know we can trust him? What if this is all another of Barter's tricks to get his hands on me?"

"It could be," Gregor said quietly. "And you _don't_ know that you can trust me. I have no way of proving it. All I can give you is my word. Professor Snape is an old friend of my family's. He was my Head of House." Gregor shrugged. "Like I said, I can't prove anything; I'm just telling you that I want to help."

Harry and Hermione looked at one another. Hermione was the first to speak. "It's all we have, Harry."

Harry nodded. "I'll get the brooms," he said, and then he hurried from the room and up the many stairs to his dormitory, thankful that for once they were behaving. The rest of the students were at lunch, so he was free to grab his Firebolt as well as Seamus's new Flyclops 3000. He took Neville's hand-me-down Nimbus for Hermione and then grabbed the invisibility cloak for the trip to the One-Eyed Witch. It wouldn't do for him to be caught roaming the halls with three brooms, particularly when two of them didn't belong to him. He told himself that his housemates would _want_ to help if they knew the whole story, though given Neville's feelings for Snape, that might not actually have been true.

He was invisible but hardly silent as he raced through the halls and down the stairs, at one point making a terrifying leap as the staircase suddenly shifted on him. They had been so cautious when they broke into the Ministry. They had planned carefully and had executed their plan with precision. Now they were racing headlong into a rescue attempt with absolutely no plan - nothing beyond the conviction that they must get to the island immediately; there was no time to lose.

He opened the passageway and tossed the brooms through before wedging himself in. Hermione and Gregor were waiting for him, already holding the brooms.

"Finally," Hermione exploded.

"I went as fast as I could," Harry panted. "Light your wands and let's go." The three tore through the passageway, each of them falling once on the unsteady ground only to be yanked back up and dragged along by another member of the group. By the time they reached the stairway, they were all panting, and they paused to catch their breath before Disapparating.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, pressing a hand to her side.

"The Isle of Pillars," Gregor answered. "Apparate onto the South beach. It's the safest spot."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance but didn't request elaboration. Maintaining a white-knuckled grip on their wands and brooms, the Apparated to the island of the Giants. Harry's first impression of the island was that it was _wet_. He looked over to see that Hermione and Gregor were standing several feet away on the pebbly beach while he was knee deep in churning water. Under other circumstances, Hermione would have laughed at his inaccuracy, but on this day she simply cast a drying charm on his robes and trousers as he waded out to join them. 

The beach area was small, which accounted in part for Harry's mistake. Waves swirled against the rocky shoreline, and a clinging mist swept in from the sea and surrounded them with cool and damp. The island beyond appeared densely forested with no sign of a path. It was not an island that appeared to invite guests.

"We'll fly over this first bit," Gregor confirmed, gesturing toward the trees. "You can get through on foot, but it's not worth the trouble, and Apparating is dangerous because with the stuff Mr. Barter has roaming around here, it's best to see where you're landing."

Gregor and Harry mounted their brooms with confidence, but Hermione eyed hers nervously. "I'm not terribly good at this," she said. 

"You don't need to be," Gregor answered. "Up and over the trees and then we'll land again. You can land, can't you?"

Hermione didn't mention the two sprained ankles she'd had from failed landings. If that happened again today, she'd simply have to teach Harry to do a proper healing charm. She straddled her broom and rose unsteadily into the air. "All right," she said. "Lead the way."

They flew slowly for her sake - even Harry, it seemed, could resist showing off under these circumstances - and once she was above the trees she simply kept her eyes on Harry's back and stayed a broom's length behind. She didn't look down until Harry began to descend, and then common sense dictated that she examine the spot where they were landing. It was a small clearing, and she thought she saw something scurry into the trees and out of sight, but it moved too quickly for her to figure out what it was. She considered asking Gregor and then decided that it might be best not to know.

She managed to land without injury, though she certainly wouldn't have won any awards for form. 

"Good job," Harry said. He then looked to Gregor. "Which way?"

"This path here leads to the ruin." Gregor set off, letting them follow. "When we get in there, I'll show you two where to look for Snape, and I'll deal with the Chimaera."

"Can you handle it by yourself?" Harry asked.

"I think so. James helped me get her here, but I think I can manage on my own. The snake's head is the worst," Gregor explained. "The bite will kill you, and it moves so fast you have to be dead accurate with your stunning spell. You can't stun the whole beast - just one head at a time - but if you stun the snake's head the goat and lion are pretty easy."

"I can help if you need me to," Harry offered. "I'm usually good with snakes."

"I've heard," Gregor said, "but I don't think I'd chat this one up if I were you. She's a nasty thing, and for me to say that…well."

Hermione shuddered slightly. She was happy to let Harry and Gregor deal with the beasts while she found Severus.

They walked for perhaps ten minutes, Gregor leading the way with his wand extended, until finally they emerged from the trees and she gasped as she caught sight of the Giants' palace.

It was completely unlike Hogwarts - in fact, it was unlike anything they'd ever seen before, and they immediately craned their necks skyward to take it all in. It was less a dwelling place than an amphitheatre, with enormous columns leading up to a terraced throne area that towered above them. They could tell that it had once been lovely, with formal gardens that had gone wild in the years since the Giants had been driven away. Massive benches were still scattered around, looming high above their heads, and the trio was no more than knee-high to the discoloured statues that stood in scummy pools where fountains used to flow. It was to be expected, of course, but also slightly disorienting to see everything on such an enormous scale. 

"I feel like Alice in Wonderland," Hermione murmured. Something about the ruin seemed to inspire whispers.

"Then that must be the Jabberwock," Harry said, pointing.

It was the Chimaera, approaching from across the palace garden. It was one of the strangest beasts they'd ever seen – a magical accident of nature with a serpent for a tail and twin heads, a goat and a lion. It moved slowly at first, deliberately, the lion's head appearing to be in charge of navigation while the snake's head writhed above and the goat glared balefully. They all kept their wands trained on the approaching beast. "I'll handle it," Gregor said. "You two go ahead."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

"Positive. Snape's around back. _Go!" _Gregor had straddled his broom and was hovering a few feet above ground, and he used himself as a decoy for the Chimaera so that they could pass.

They obeyed, darting around one of the enormous benches and hurrying through the garden toward the back of the ruined palace. Behind them, they heard Gregor firing off curses.

"Gregor's a lunatic," Hermione panted as they skirted the massive throne area. "Anyone who would deal with _that_ for a living is completely crazy."

"Hagrid…"

"Is bonkers," she insisted. "Now come _on_. Let's get Severus and get _out _of here."

Behind the throne area, a set of marble steps descended into a tangled wilderness. "We're going to have to fly," Harry said. The steps were impossibly deep, created for beings more than three times their height. Hermione nodded and straddled her broom. Given the choice between a sprained ankle and a broken neck, she'd take the sprained ankle any day. They soared down the incline, and for once she didn't even consider closing her eyes; she was searching for the tunnel Gregor had described, and when she saw it, it was all she could do not to shout with joy.

"Harry!" she hissed. "There it is!"

"Be careful," Harry admonished, as her broom dipped precipitously. "Almost there."

They landed just in front of the tunnel and Hermione dropped her broom and ran to the entrance. A boulder had been placed there, with enough space around the cracks that air could get in, but as Gregor had promised, it had been sufficiently blocked to keep the Chimaera at bay.

Hermione fired off a displacement charm and then gave Harry a panicked look when the boulder didn't move. "It's been warded," she said desperately. 

"Gregor didn't say anything about that. Barter must have been here again," Harry said grimly. "Why don't you try that thing you used at the Ministry?" 

Her hand shook as she performed the spell, but again the boulder didn't budge. "I think that must just work on doors," she wailed. "This is something different."

"We'll come up with something," Harry promised, raising his wand. 

"Wait!" she said. "I just remembered. You work on the stone. I'm going in. In my Animagus form, I can fit through the cracks."

Harry looked as though he wanted to object, but one glance at her face seemed to convince him otherwise. He nodded. "Go ahead then."

She transformed in an instant and wriggled through the space around the boulder. She could make out a dim light at the end of the tunnel, and she ran toward it without even bothering to transform. 

And so it was that Severus Snape was startled awake by a tiny ball of wriggling fur which transformed, on top of him, into a laughing, crying Hermione. She flung her arms around the astonished man and pressed kisses to his gaunt face, wetting his whiskered cheeks with her tears.

"Hermione…" he whispered, encircling her with his arms. "What are you doing here, foolish girl?" 

"I'm rescuing you, of course," she answered, wiping her tears and beaming at him. "But first I'm going to kiss you until Harry figures out a way to get us out of here." She made good on her promise, pressing her lips to his. She heard faint sounds coming from the entrance to the cave. It must be Harry, she thought, but now she wished he would take his time. She was finally in Severus's arms, and she was quite content to stay there without interruption.

"Wait," he said into her mouth. "Wait." He shifted her slightly, struggling to sit up. She accommodated him by moving back but kept her arms around his neck and her legs across his lap. "You're not safe here."

"Neither are you," she countered. "That's the point, isn't it?"

"Where are we? How did you find me?"

"Gregor. We're on the Isle of Pillars, off the coast of Wales. He saw you here when he was delivering a Chimaera for Barter."

"A Chimaera! Did you…?"

"He's taking care of it," she assured him. "It's the most hideous thing I've ever seen. Hagrid would be in raptures over it." She burst out laughing again and pressed more kisses to his face.

"Hermione…"

"I know," she said, pulling away and shaking her head. "I'm behaving like a schoolgirl, aren't I? Well, I _am_ one, after all, and I've just…everything has been so _awful_ ever since they took you away. And then to have you disappear from the Ministry like that…I can't believe we're both here - that I'm actually touching you."

"I'm finding it rather hard to believe myself," he said dryly. "Even with my abused head throbbing from your rather enthusiastic attentions."

"Well pardon me, Professor. Perhaps you'd rather I just left you here in your cosy little cave."

She attempted to pull away from him but his arms tightened around her, holding her in place. "Don't be ridiculous. And trust you and Potter to get yourselves off this island? The Headmaster would never forgive me if I allowed anything to happen to his golden Gryffindors."

"He's been awfully worried about his Slytherin spy," she told him seriously, brushing a lank piece of hair from his face.

"I know," he answered. "He feels responsible and shouldn't. Perhaps I can make him see that one day. But now," he pressed his lips to her brow, "we need to get out of here."

"There's a boulder blocking the entrance, and we weren't able to move it magically. Harry's working on it." 

He snorted. "Not the most reassuring thing you could tell me. We'll be here forever in that case." He rose and offered her his hand. "You have your wand, I presume?"

"Of course." She slipped it out of her skirt pocket and held it up for his inspection. 

"If you'll allow me to borrow that, I think I can set us free."

"_Expelliarmus_." They barely heard the whispered charm from the darkened tunnel before Hermione's wand was whisked from her grasp and soared across the cavern.

"Thank you, my dear," Barter said, emerging from the shadows and tucking the wand away. 

Hermione gasped and tightened her grip on Severus's hand.

"I'm sorry I missed your touching reunion with your _student_, Severus," Barter said mockingly. "So the Mudblood means nothing to you, eh?" He looked at Hermione. "You've saved me some trouble, girl. I was going to borrow you this weekend to help me convince Severus to brew a certain potion."

"I would never help you do anything!" she spat. "And certainly not _that_."

"Quiet," Severus hissed, attempting to push her behind him. 

"I'd listen to him, if I were you, Miss Granger." Barter came further into the room, making a slow, predatory circle around them. "You're hardly in a position to tell me what you're going to do. Your friend Potter is lying stunned outside, and if I didn't have other uses for him, he'd be a tasty snack for the Chimaera. I have no further use for the traitorous Mr. King, and he will be dealt with appropriately. So you and your _Professor_ are going to accompany me back to a laboratory I've arranged, and there the Potions Master will finally see his project through to completion."

"No, Horatio," Severus said quietly. "I'd sooner see her die now than have her live in a world where you possess that potion."

Barter stopped prowling the cavern and narrowed his eyes as he drew his wand and pointed it directly at Hermione. "I would advise you not to attempt to bluff me, Severus. It's obvious that the girl means a great deal to you. She means nothing to me. I believe that gives me the upper hand."

"To the contrary," Severus said calmly. "I'm fairly certain that I have the upper hand."

Barter's mouth curved into a sinister smile. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"

Hermione tensed, and then the cave seemed to explode with light and sound and movement. Snape once again tried to shield her from the impending threat of Barter's wand, while she fought to keep him from doing so. At the same time, a powerful flash of green light roared from the passageway and struck Barter in the back. As Barter fell, an aged wizard materialized at the cavern's entrance, an avenging angel in white and gold robes. 

"Children," he said softly, greeting them. 

Hermione and Severus wore similarly stunned expressions; at that moment, neither was capable of making a response. Dumbledore made his way to the fallen man at the centre of the cave and stooped down, his long white beard dragging on the dirt floor. With one gnarled hand, he gently closed the dead man's eyes, and then his fingers hovered over Barter's swarthy face as if searching for another act of contrition to perform.

Severus found his voice first. "There was no other way, Albus."

"There is always another way, Severus," Dumbledore replied, rising and shaking his head slowly. "I simply wasn't able to find it."

§ § § § 

A/N: Beta thanks as always! I think I'll just make her the official chapter title queen. This one was hers too, along with a whole lot of other stuff. There will be two more chapters after this one, and there shouldn't be any more long waits. I hope to have the next chapter ready to post in about a week. Thanks to all who have taken the time to review or e-mail to let me know you're enjoying the story. I truly appreciate it! 

  



	26. Flight

Chapter 25

__

Flight

Even if she hadn't been in love with him, Hermione would have had to admire the way Severus Snape handled himself in the aftermath of Horatio Barter's death. He had been imprisoned, tortured by the dementors, confined in a cave, and then presented with one of the greatest shocks of his life, yet he still was able to think quickly and effectively about what needed to be done next. She, on the other hand, felt unequal to formulating the simplest of sentences. Had it been left up to her, they might have stood in the cave forever with their mouths hanging open.

Her eyes were drawn to the lifeless body of Horatio Barter. She had known that man in life, albeit briefly. She had stood next to him at a dinner party in her prettiest robes and had felt a thrill when she had learned that he owned a publishing company. It was different, somehow, than seeing Neilus Finbar dead. Finbar had been little more than a name and, briefly, the hand holding the wand that tortured her. Horatio Barter had been a real person, someone who might have been one of her parents' friends. As she had told Severus, he had been _nice_.

Except that he hadn't been nice at all. Even though she thought she had already acknowledged that fact, there was a childish part of her that refused to believe until she actually looked into Barter's dark eyes as he threatened her. Killing her meant nothing to him. Beneath the patina of wealth and respectability beat the cold heart of a man who was beyond redemption.

Severus was right: There was no other way.

Even as she acknowledged that truth, she recognized that the revelation of Barter's true colours had not been the greatest shock of the day. Rather, it had been the sight of Albus Dumbledore stooping in the dirt to close the dead man's eyes. It was beyond comprehension. She knew she would need to take it out and look at it from every angle, to make sense of it a little at a time, but just then it seemed impossible.

While she was certain the sight had been no less shocking to Severus, fortunately it hadn't paralysed him. 

"Where is Potter?" he asked. His tone was brisk, insisting that they all focus on what needed to be done.

"He and Gregor King are both lying stunned outside of the cave," Albus said. "They do not otherwise appear to have been harmed."

"Let's collect them, then, and be gone from here." He stepped over to Barter and picked up Hermione's wand, but he didn't return it to her. He looked at the Headmaster. "Albus, did you use your wand?"

"No."

"Good. Take Hermione out, if you please. I'll follow in a moment."

Dumbledore frowned at his Potions Master. "What are you up to, Severus?"

"Horatio's body mustn't be discovered. Trust me, Albus. I learned a few things from the Finbar debacle."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, as if undecided, but in the face of Severus's unwavering stare, he nodded and reached out to Hermione. "Come, child. Let's go awaken your friends."

Against all reason, Hermione was frightened at the thought of leaving Severus alone with Barter. After all the man had put them through, it seemed quite possible that he might arise and once again get the upper hand. Ignoring her long habit of obedience to the Headmaster, Hermione took a step closer to Severus.

Severus brushed her cheek gently with the backs of his grimy fingers and said one word: "Go."

It was the soft touch that did it, as he had surely known it would. She went, trailing reluctantly behind Dumbledore.

They found Harry face down outside the entrance to the cave, his wand still clasped in his hand. Barter had obviously come upon him from behind. Fawkes was stationed just beside Harry as if standing guard, but he soared into a nearby tree as Dumbledore approached to awaken the fallen wizard with a clap of his hands. Harry's eyes opened immediately, and he scrambled to his feet in obvious confusion. "Hermione…Professor. Where's Snape?"

"_Professor_ Snape will be along in just a moment, Harry," Dumbledore said, and Hermione felt a bubble of hysteria rise when she realized that the Headmaster had placed his usual corrective emphasis on Severus's title. Dumbledore moved from Harry to Gregor, who was laying a few metres away.

"Wait!" Severus said, emerging from the tunnel. 

Dumbledore looked up. "Yes?" 

"We need to decide what to do about him." Severus nodded in Gregor's direction. "It might perhaps be best for everyone - him included - if he has no memory of these events."

Dumbledore frowned at that. "Severus, I dislike the idea of…"

"Albus, the boy has behaved admirably. I have taken measures to ensure that Barter's death here will not be discovered, but if it is, would you have him implicated?"

"No, perhaps you're right," Dumbledore agreed heavily. "I will bow to your greater experience in these matters."

"What exactly happened, sir?" Harry asked.

"We will discuss that later," Severus said firmly. "At the moment, we need to get away from here. Barter might have told someone that he was coming, and it wouldn't do for any of us to be found." He looked from Harry to Hermione. "How did you two get here?"

"We Apparated," Hermione said. "Remus taught us."

He gave her a sharp look at that but then nodded. "Good. Albus, can you Apparate with Mr. King?"

"Of course." 

Severus handed Hermione her wand and stooped to retrieve Gregor King's before giving Dumbledore a questioning look. 

Dumbledore seemed to know what Severus meant. "My cottage," he said. "We'll be safe there for a time."

Severus nodded and glanced at Hermione and Harry. 

"See you there," Harry said, and moments later they all were standing in Dumbledore's sunlit vacation home, with the exception of Gregor. Dumbledore dispatched him to one of the upstairs bedrooms. 

Hermione wanted to weep with the sense of homecoming and to rush around embracing the charmed furnishings as old friends. She had been whisked from nightmare to fantasy, in a twinkling. She automatically moved toward Severus and then paused, hurt, when he took a step away from her. 

"There is much to discuss," he said quietly, "but since we are safe here for a while, I would like to clean up a bit first. Albus, may I use your shower?"

"Of course."

Severus nodded and swept off in the direction of the bookcase. Even grimy and unshaven he had a presence that was overwhelming, and she watched him with starved eyes as he left the room.

§ § § §

Severus began unfastening his robes even before the bookcase slid shut behind him. He had never been known for strict adherence to personal hygiene, but even his fairly low standards were compromised by time in Azkaban followed by imprisonment in a cave. He felt disgusting, frankly, and couldn't get out of his filthy clothes fast enough. He left a trail of clothing across the bedroom and was naked by the time he got to the bath. He stepped immediately into a steaming shower, welcoming the stinging spray against his sore muscles, and stood there for several minutes, eyes closed, just letting the water pound him.

Hermione…Albus…Potter. All waiting for him just outside. He hadn't wanted to be in Azkaban - of course he hadn't - but there had been a part of him that had welcomed the finality of it. He had lived in the shadow of Azkaban, or death itself, for so many years that in a way it had been a relief to finally have it over with. Now he was free, but at the cost of living in the shadow once again. He wasn't at all sure it was worth it.

But he had a responsibility to each of the three people in the next room, and having battled his fate for so long, simply giving into it was unthinkable. Azkaban might yet claim him, and death certainly would, but neither would get him now without a fight. He knew what it had cost Albus Dumbledore to save him - twice - and he could not repay that debt by resigning himself to prison. No, he had to fight, and in this case, fight and flight were one and the same. Albus would understand that, and Potter, too, perhaps better than anyone. But Hermione…

He tried to shake off the memory of the way Hermione's eyes had followed him out of the room. He didn't want to think about that at all. It was easier to stand in the scalding water and hope that Albus had cast a happily-ever-after charm on the infernal place and that for once, his difficulties would simply be washed away. 

But of course, all that washed away was the top layer of grime. He reached for Albus' soaps to rid himself of the rest, sure that his troubles were all still waiting for him just outside the door…bookcase…whatever. He towelled himself dry and was on his way out of the bathroom when he glanced at the fogged mirror – some impulse drove him to wipe it clean. His hand made wide streaks through the condensation, briefly making things worse instead of better, but after a minute the mirror began to clear and he leaned in to examine his face. He knew he had never been a handsome man, and now he was too thin and badly in need of a shave. He should have looked dreadful, but thanks to the three people on the other side of the bookcase, the reflection in the mirror was enhanced by love and respect and caring. He still wasn't attractive, exactly, but he looked likeable, approachable. He knew he would never look quite so good again.

He used Gregor's wand to deal with the shave, since Albus' ancient razor appeared better suited for slicing through the underbrush whilst on a safari. He glanced down at his filthy discarded robes and realized that he would need Muggle clothing. It took him a moment to remember that the third drawer of the dresser was charmed to provide whatever clothing was desired by the person who opened it – one of Albus' more useful charms. He was soon dressed in trousers and a white shirt.

He reached for Gregor's wand, tapped the wall, and the bookcase slid open noiselessly.

§ § § §

Once Severus had gone, Dumbledore recovered himself sufficiently to play host; he produced tea and biscuits for his guests before settling into his favourite chair before the fire. Hermione noticed somewhat irritably that the chair seemed to embrace him the moment he sat down.

Harry and Hermione had little wish for tea but accepted out of habit, Harry taking the opposite chair and Hermione curling into one end of the sofa. Harry was the first to speak.

"What happened while I was stunned, sir?"

"Well, Harry, I arrived at the island to find you and Gregor King outside the cave. I was concerned, of course, and left Fawkes to stand guard over you while I went to look for Severus and Hermione. When I found them, Barter was threatening them…had taken Hermione's wand. I revealed myself to Severus when Barter's back was turned, and he was able to keep Barter talking so that he wouldn't hear my approach."

Harry's mouth fell open. "So you're the one who…?"

"Yes, Harry. I killed Horatio Barter." Dumbledore didn't sound apologetic, nor did he sound proud of his actions. He simply offered the truth. "It seemed the best choice at the time."

"It _was_, sir," Hermione said. "If you'd let him live, he wouldn't have been punished - you've seen how Fudge treats him - and sooner or later, he'd have found someone to make that potion for him. That's why he kidnapped Severus, you know. None of us would have ever been safe if you'd let him live."

"Perhaps not," Dumbledore agreed soberly. "As I said, it seemed the best choice at the time, and perhaps it will seem that way in hindsight as well. It is done, at any rate, and I am profoundly glad that you're all safe."

"How did you find us?" Hermione asked. She had been wondering that ever since he had appeared in the tunnel. At the time, it had seemed nothing short of miraculous.

"Fawkes led me to you," he told her, gesturing to the phoenix who was perched contentedly nearby. "I am not certain how he knew, but he has come to Harry's aid before; when he let me know that I needed to accompany him, I did so without question. He guided my Apparition to the island and led me straight to Harry."

Harry was still staring at Dumbledore, obviously as stunned as Hermione had been by the fact that the Headmaster had cast a killing curse. "Harry?" Hermione prodded. "Do you know how you managed to call Fawkes?"

"Er…no, I suppose I don't," Harry said, rejoining the conversation with some effort. "When Fawkes came to the Chamber of Secrets, you said it was because I'd shown you great loyalty, but I hadn't really done that today. I mean," he shot Dumbledore an apologetic look, "I _would _have, of course, if it had come up, but Barter stunned me before I even knew he was there."

The Headmaster made a thoughtful sound as he looked at his bird. "I've often wished that Fawkes could speak. Perhaps we'll never know how he found you. I'm just grateful that he did."

"Actually," Severus said, re-entering the room, "I can probably clear that up." 

They all looked up, startled, at the sound of Severus' voice, and Hermione reached out to him with one hand, urging him to come to her. He paused and seemed undecided for a moment but then joined her on the sofa, sitting next to her without actually touching her.

"Well?" Harry asked.

"I assume you got the package I left for you," Severus said. When Harry nodded and lifted his wand slightly, Severus went on. "I arrived early for a meeting with Albus one day and took advantage of the opportunity to ask Fawkes for a new feather. It was before I knew I'd be going to Azkaban, but I had promised you I would help you disappear, and I knew that you'd need a new wand. I didn't expect him to give it to me, actually." Severus shrugged slightly. "I just thought as long as I was there, it wouldn't hurt to ask. He turned his back to me, and I thought that was a 'no' - I felt bloody foolish about it. I had already started to turn away when I caught sight of the feather falling to the ground."

"So he just gave it to you?" Harry said.

"He gave it to _you_," Severus answered. "I told him who it was for, and why."

"That's interesting, but it still doesn't explain how Fawkes found me," Harry pointed out.

Dumbledore smiled slightly for the first time since they had arrived at the cottage. "I believe your godfather must have put a charm of some sort on the feather. Am I right Severus?"

Severus nodded. "A tracking charm, from the feather to its source, so that if Potter was ever in great need, Fawkes would know it and be able to find him."

"You had no right to do that!" Harry exclaimed hotly. "You promised to help me run away, not to keep me on some magical leash to the Headmaster's office."

"I am well acquainted with your proclivity for getting into trouble, Mr. Potter. It was my hope that the charm might save your miserable life in the event that the rest of us were too far away to do so. And if I'm not mistaken, it worked perfectly. Since Hermione's life – and my own – happened to be very close to yours at the time, I can't find it in me to apologize."

"Well you can bloody well take it off," Harry snapped. "Or else I'll get a whole new wand. It's a bit hard to blend in with the Muggles when you've got a bird that looks like _Fawkes _showing up every time you bang your shin." He slashed angrily at the air with his wand, and several books flew from the nearby bookshelf, one narrowly missing Dumbledore's pointed hat, while a nearby lamp shattered and then quickly repaired itself.

Severus raised his eyebrows and smirked but didn't comment. "Very well. Just know that the next time you're stunned from behind - something that seems to be becoming quite a habit with you, incidentally - you'll be on your own."

"Perhaps we could digress for just a moment," Dumbledore said, interrupting the sparring. "What is all this about Harry going to live with the Muggles?"

Harry glanced guiltily at Snape and Hermione and then faced Dumbledore. "Professor Snape agreed to help me run away again, sir," he said. "I told him that I didn't want to live in the wizarding world any more."

"He's old enough to make that choice, Albus," Severus said. Hermione couldn't tell whether he was defending Harry's plans or his own complicity with them.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, nodding and looking at Harry over the rims of his glasses. "Yes, you are, Harry. And while I am disappointed, I can't say I'm surprised. The wizarding world has not shown you its best side in these last few years. Perhaps some time away from it would be good for you, particularly in light of recent events."

"As to that…" Snape said.

"Yes." Dumbledore sighed heavily. "We must consider what is to be done with you, Severus. As much as I would like to have you return to your dungeon, I fear that option is not available to you."

"No," Snape said. "I hadn't expected that it would be. And with Barter dead, there's no way to prove that I didn't manage to escape somehow. If I'm found…well."

In the silence following that statement, Hermione reached hesitantly across the few centimetres that separated her and Severus and tangled her fingers with his. It was a few seconds before she felt the reassuring pressure of his response, but when it came she felt something tight in her chest begin to loosen. She had expected that once he was found they would throw themselves into one another's arms, but for every step she took toward him, he seemed to take a step back. She had wanted to lean into him as they sat beside one another, but it was as if he had erected an invisible barrier, and she sensed that her touch would be unwelcome. It had only been a few weeks since they'd been together in this same cottage - their bodies pressed together, their limbs intertwined as they talked and laughed and kissed and dreamed. So much had happened since then that the weeks seemed years - and _she_ wasn't the one recently out of Azkaban. She told herself that was why he seemed strange. It was because of his recent experiences and nothing to do with her, or how he felt about her. 

The slight press of his hand on hers made all of her excuses believable and gave her the courage to relax into his side. He drew his hand from hers and put his arm around her, pulling her closer and drawing his fingers gently through her hair. Her tears came then, silent tears of relief and joy that dampened the front of his shirt. 

"Where will you go?" Dumbledore asked quietly. 

"No one place for very long, I imagine," Snape answered. "I don't relish the idea of living among the Muggles, but I suppose I'll have to for a while."

"I will work tirelessly to bring about your full pardon, Severus. I won't rest until it is safe for you to come back to us."

"As long as Fudge is Minister, you'll find that a difficult task."

"Nevertheless, I will see it done."

"I'll not maintain contact with you," Severus said. "I won't put you in that danger."

"Severus…"

"No, Albus. If Fudge had the slightest reason to believe that you helped me to escape, he could make things very difficult for you, and you're needed too much at Hogwarts to risk that. I won't have the threat that hangs over me hanging over anyone else."

Hermione felt his fingers go still in her hair as he said this last, and she pulled away from him so that she could meet his eyes. "I'm going with you," she said quietly, firmly.

"No." He shook his head slightly.

"_Yes_."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "You have too much promise…I won't have you throw everything away for a life in hiding."

"Damn you!" she said, glaring at him with real anger. "I don't care about any of that!"

"Then I'll care enough for both of us." He sounded exhausted but resolute.

"You're not in charge anymore," she snapped. "And I'm not some student you can order about while you perfect your martyr act. This is notjust _your _decision."

"Hermione." The room had narrowed to just the two of them, and the intrusion of Dumbledore's voice startled her. "Severus is right. He needs to be able to travel quickly and easily. Two will be more easily remarked than one."

"Actually," Severus said, "I was thinking of taking Potter with me."

"What?" she exclaimed, outraged. "You want to run off with _Harry _and leave me behind?"

"Potter is already planning to leave and has good reasons for doing so," Severus said quietly. "He, too, is facing a Ministry inquiry and is quite guilty of the crime he is accused of having committed. However, his last foray into the Muggle world was an unmitigated disaster. He is not, in my opinion, ready to be on his own."

"I don't need a babysitter," Harry snapped. 

"Yes, Mr. Potter, you do," Snape returned, glancing pointedly at the books on the floor. "And I am bound by my obligations as your godfather and as your teacher to make sure that you learn to control your considerable abilities before being sent out into the world. I had hoped that by arranging your independent study your training would be accomplished, even in my absence. Now, however, it makes little sense for you to return to Hogwarts. We will leave together, and you will study with me."

"You can't make me," Harry said, sounding like a sulky child. 

Snape merely raised an eyebrow at him. "I think I'll leave you to discuss that with the Headmaster," he said. "Hermione and I will step outside for a few moments."

He stood and offered her his hand, and she took it, despite her acute feelings of betrayal and anger. She had spent every waking minute working on trying to get him free so that they could be together, and now he was telling her that he wanted to leave her behind. It made her furious, but not so furious that she would spurn his touch after all they'd been through. She let him lead her out the door.

§ § § § 

Harry watched Hermione and Snape leave and then turned to Dumbledore. "You want me to go with him, don't you?"

"If you must go, then yes, I would prefer that you travel with Professor Snape for a while – for both your sakes," Dumbledore answered. "He can give you the training that you need, and you can help him learn to live amongst the Muggles, something he's never done before. It will be difficult for him."

That put a bit of a different spin on things, actually. Harry hadn't considered that travelling with Snape would be anything other than a dictatorship. He rather liked the idea that he had some experience that Snape didn't. But still, to live with _Snape_…

Dumbledore obviously saw that he wasn't convinced, so he tried another angle. "Harry, I feel that I have failed you," he said sadly. "I don't blame you for wanting to leave – _needing_ to leave – but I am loathe to send you out unprepared, particularly when that lack of preparation is due entirely to my own short-sightedness. I had hoped that certain lessons wouldn't be necessary for you, but I realise that I was naïve. I believe that Sirius saw that, and it is why he selected Severus Snape as your godfather. Sirius knew that you weren't ready to be on your own, and he believed that Severus had something to offer you. Please have faith in Sirius's judgment, even if you have lost your faith in mine."

"_No, sir_!" Harry said quickly. "I haven't ever..." He looked away briefly as he tried to work up his nerve to say what he really felt. "I thought you were disappointed in me…for what I did to Pettigrew and for running away like such a prat. I've always wanted to be like you, but I don't think I ever really will be."

"Nor do you need to be," Dumbledore said gently. "You have done quite well so far just being Harry Potter. You are more than capable of being the hero of your own life, Harry. You don't need me to fill that station." 

"That day in the infirmary…"

"Yes?"

"You asked me if Voldemort was the first person I had ever killed…asked me how I felt."

"And now you want to ask me those same questions." Dumbledore said perceptively.

"Well, yes, sir. If you don't mind, that is."

"You've earned the right ask me whatever you wish, Harry, particularly as our time together is drawing short." Dumbledore appeared to gather his thoughts for a moment, and then he answered. "No, Horatio Barter is not the first person I killed, as I'm sure Professor Binns taught you at some time or another. I killed Grindelwald back in 1945 and two other men in my youth, when I was still learning about what it meant to wield power."

"Professor Binns just told us that you were involved in the battle against Grindelwald. He sort of…skipped over the details, now that I think about it." Harry didn't add that he might have fallen asleep that day. He didn't _think _he had, but with Professor Binns there was always that possibility.

"Professor Binns no doubt knows that I prefer to be remembered for other things, but that doesn't mean that I want to re-write history. I discovered early in life, Harry, that regardless of my capabilities, I have no taste for killing or for Dark Magic. I have avoided both, perhaps too assiduously. I killed Grindelwald as a last resort, after watching many of my friends fall. Even so, and even as I was celebrated throughout the wizarding world, I was tormented by the act…convinced I should have found another way. A part of me feels that way about Horatio Barter already, but I knew today that I couldn't stand by and let another monster gain a foothold in our world whilst I searched for alternative methods of battling evil. We have not yet recovered from Voldemort's most recent rise. We are not strong enough to fight another Dark Lord. And yet, that's not the only reason I killed him. At the very moment I cast the curse, I think I killed him because he was threatening two innocent people, two people I cared about, and I had the power to stop it. I took no joy in the act, but neither do I regret it at the moment."

Harry had lost count of how many times he had felt utterly humbled in the Headmaster's presence. He didn't think any of them approached that moment, when Albus Dumbledore willingly stepped down from the pedestal Harry had had him on for years and admitted to his own doubts and human frailties - let him see that he, too, lived a life defined by shades of grey. It was one of those moments that divided time and altered Harry's perspective forevermore. Dumbledore had spent more than six years teaching him how to be a wizard, but Harry realized that he should have been paying more attention to t t he lessons on how to be a man.

"Thank you, sir," he said softly. "You've made me feel better about some things." 

"I'm glad," Dumbledore said. "Remember, Harry, that I was already an old man by the time I defeated Grindelwald. You faced Voldemort while still little more than a boy. You have earned the right to step away for a while - to understand your own capabilities and decide how you want to use them. But do consider letting Professor Snape help you along that path."

Harry nodded, knowing that the decision was already made. Severus Snape wouldn't have been his first choice of a companion in exile, but he was a logical choice - Harry had to admit that - and even being with _Snape_ might be preferable to being alone. "Yes, sir. I'll go with Professor Snape."

Dumbledore gave him a fleeting smile. Of course, he, too, had known that the decision was made. "We will miss you, Harry, but I have the feeling that you'll return to us one day. Perhaps not in my lifetime, but I do think you'll return. There is a place for you in our world - a place that's been yours since the day you were born - if only you will come and take it."

"Sir…"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "There is no need to say anything. I only want you to know that you are not closing any doors by leaving us now."

Harry nodded, relieved by Dumbledore's words but not quite willing to admit it. He had to leave before he could know if he would ever want to come back. He was grateful that Dumbledore seemed to understand that. 

§ § § § 

In spite of her feelings, Hermione's hand tightened on Severus' as they walked out onto the patio - another homecoming. She had no idea where they were, she realized. Not in Ireland any more, surely. They could be anywhere in the world, but the gentle slope of lawn leading down to the pond was the same. The place where she'd sat the first night they'd really talked. The place where he'd held her for the first time. 

The place where they would say goodbye.

She knew it, somehow. It was in his touch and his posture and in everything he hadn't said and done since she'd found him in the cave. He was retreating from her, drawing away, back into the lonely place where she'd found him, and she was powerless to stop it. He had been in control since that first day in the Leaky Cauldron, not because he had made it a condition of taking her along but because she was intelligent enough to know that she had a lot to learn. Now he had the power to leave her behind and she realized that there was nothing she could do about it. She had been bluffing inside; it _was_ his decision. She had convinced him before with her tenacious arguments and her fierce determination – to let her help search for Harry, to let her go to the cottage with him. She knew that this time he would not be swayed. The one who was willing to walk away always had the upper hand.

He led her to their familiar spot in the grass and once again pulled her against him. His arms went around her, binding her to him as he buried his face in the curve of her neck. She felt him shudder, and her throat constricted.

"No," she whispered.

"I'm sorry." 

"Severus, please." She would beg if she had to.

"You cannot come with me," he said. "Three of us travelling together would be too easily remarked, even with disguises, and I would sooner be back at Azkaban than live with the knowledge that I put you at risk. I won't ask Potter to live with that either."

"He said he won't go with you."

"He will." Severus sighed. "It appears that once again the Fates are having a laugh at my expense and that I will be stuck with Harry Potter for a while longer. I assure you that he is not my Gryffindor of choice, but he wants training, and I can give him that."

She couldn't argue with that, actually, and she felt a great deal better about Harry knowing that Severus would be with him, at least for a while. But that didn't mean she was content to be left behind. "Let me know where you're going," she pleaded. "I'll finish school and then join you. Perhaps it will be safer then."

"Perhaps, but there's no way of knowing, and if they should call you before the Magistrate and administer Veritaserum, I want you to be able to say that you have no idea where we are."

"Severus…"

"I'm sorry, Hermione. As I said in my letter, I should never have allowed myself to get close to you."

She twisted in his arms so that she could face him. "You can't live your life that way."

"Of course I can," he said harshly. "I have for years and never should have stopped." He shook his head and reached to cup her chin with one gentle hand as his voice softened. "This never should have happened."

"Don't _say_ that," she said, jerking away from him, feeling herself start to cry. "You're just looking for excuses, aren't you? Excuses to crawl back in that hole you've been hiding in! But Professor Dumbledore promised he would see you pardoned…"

"He might not accomplish that for years - or at all - and I won't have you waiting for me."

"I love you, Severus." That simple truth was all the argument she had, really, with the tears on her cheeks as evidence. She loved him and she wanted to be with him. He loved her and wanted to leave her behind. And somehow, they were both right.

"Foolish girl." Those two whispered words had made their way from admonition to endearment, and now they were a mixture of both. She flew at him with a cry of frustration and fury, clutching at his shirt and the skin of his chest beneath. Not caring if it hurt. Wanting it to. His fingers closed around her wrists and pulled her hands away before he moved swiftly to crush his mouth to hers, swallowing her sobs and absorbing her shudders with his own lean frame. The kiss turned savage as they raged against the parting that was to come. He pressed her into the soft grass, pinning her with his weight and moving against her with no more reservation than a wild creature mating in the forest. His bruised mouth left hers and attacked her neck, her ear, her jaw, as she wrenched one wrist free and clawed at his back through the fabric of his shirt. She cried out as his teeth made contact with tender skin, and he drew back and looked at her, panting, sanity returning to tame the wildness in his eyes.

"_Damn _you," she whimpered between ragged breaths. "Finish what you start."

"I can't," he managed, shaking his head slightly and pulling away. "I can't."

She wasn't sure if the emotion that scalded her in the wake of his quiet words was love or hate, but she knew with deep certainty that she would never feel anything so intense again. She wanted to scream, to rage, to cry, but their passion had moved them into an isolated place no words or tears would reach.

They returned to the cottage with bits of grass still clinging to their hair and clothes, the marks of their fierce goodbye still visible on their skin. 

She didn't care. 

§ § § §

All it took was a glance for Hermione to see that Harry had agreed. He would be going with Severus. Severus apparently saw it too because he didn't bother to ask, just declared brusquely that they needed to leave as soon as possible.

Harry nodded and rose from his seat, approaching Hermione with a stricken look. Just as she had known that he would give in to Severus' wishes, he seemed to know that she would be left behind. He pulled her into his arms and held her, but in the face of so much to say, they said almost nothing at all. "Thank you," he whispered. "Take care of Remus for me. And Hedwig…she's yours now."

She nodded into his shoulder but couldn't speak. Later, during the course of a hundred sleepless nights, she would compose lengthy speeches to him - odes to their friendship, entreaties to be careful, profound thanks for sharing the loves and laughs and pains of the last six years. At that moment, she couldn't think of a single thing to say, and even if she'd been able to come up with something brilliant, it wouldn't have made it past the lump in her throat.

He pulled away from her, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself and stood to one side as he embraced Dumbledore and received the Headmaster's gentle thanks and praise. "Your parents would be very proud of you, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Never doubt that. I hope that you'll return to us one day, but more than that, I hope that you find happiness, wherever life takes you."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said hoarsely. "Thank you for everything."

Dumbledore squeezed Harry's shoulder briefly and then turned to Severus. "The entire wizarding world owes you a great debt, Severus, and I'm profoundly sorry that we've repaid it so poorly. I will miss you, my friend, and I will not rest until it is safe for you to return home."

"There's no debt, Albus," Severus answered quietly. "I know what it cost you to do what you did today." The two men embraced quickly and somewhat awkwardly, and then Severus stepped away. 

"We should all go now," he said, not looking at Hermione. "You need to return to Hogwarts before dinner is served and Potter and I need to be on our way. I assume you'll take care of Gregor?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I'll have to alter his memories, I'm afraid, but after that I'll make sure that he gets home safely."

Severus nodded. "Good. Potter and I will disapparate from outside." He glanced at Harry. "It's time."

She didn't expect him to come to her. She thought there was nothing left to add to what had transpired between them outside, and part of her shied away from the thought of any further contact. Even the gentlest touch is painful to an open wound.

But he crossed over to her and pulled her into his arms; though she did feel the pain, it was worth it to feel his touch one last time. "I told you outside that this never should have happened," he murmured into her hair. "And that's true for more reasons than I can count." 

He pulled away and framed her face gently with his hands, forcing her to look at him. "But in spite of that…I'm glad it did."

She nodded and bit her lip, unable to speak, and with a brush of dry lips across her brow, he was gone.

__

To be continued…

§ § § § 

__

A/N: One more chapter to go…should be posted in about a week. Dumbledore was quoting Dickens in his conversation with Harry: "Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show," is the first line of David Copperfield. For some reason, I think Dickens and Dumbledore would have gotten along famously. Beta thanks as always!


	27. Epilogue: The Buried Life

Epilogue: The Buried Life

Hermione left her desk tidy, as she always did, and bade goodnight the few fellow employees who remained after hours in the Department of Magical Innovations. They looked at her in surprise, none being able to remember a time when she had left before they had. She had risen quickly in the Department, in many ways had made it her own, and that had not been accomplished by leaving early.

That evening, however, she had an appointment, and she didn't want to be late. She probably would be anyway, she realized, looking at her watch, but she hurried down the labyrinthine corridors and into the antechamber set aside for Apparition. Within seconds she was in her own bedroom, casting off her work robes in favour of some that were a bit more elegant. She didn't know why she still had such a need to impress this man after all these years, but she'd long since given up wondering and had just accepted it as a given. If at all possible, she would not be late and she would not be sloppy, and that was all there was to that.

She made an attempt at taming her hair, added a touch of lipstick, and then went to her fireplace. She reached for the canister of Floo powder, her glance sliding to a picture on the mantle of Harry, Ron, and herself at a Quidditch game during their sixth year. Ron grinned and waved while Harry put his arm around her and squeezed. Usually she could see the picture without it causing fresh pain, but on this night she swallowed hard and averted her gaze, tossing in the Floo powder. 

"Albus Dumbledore's Office."

"Hermione!" Dumbledore exclaimed, as if her arrival was a pleasant surprise rather than a response to a near-quarterly summons. "How wonderful to see you, my dear. You're looking well."

"Thank you, sir," she answered politely. "As are you. I hope things are going well here at Hogwarts?"

"Oh fine, just fine," he said, conjuring a tea set as he talked. "The usual upsets with start-of-term - some homesickness, of course, and some disciplinary problems to be worked out, but nothing we haven't seen before. How are things at the Ministry?"

She smiled and accepted the teacup he handed her and settled into her usual chair. "About the same as always. I try to confine my involvement to my own department and ignore everything else. It makes life bearable."

"Surely things have improved since Fudge stepped down?"

"Oh, they have; of course they have. It's still a bureaucracy though, filled with people interested in doing as little as possible and covering their own arses…Sorry." She looked at him a bit sheepishly. "I probably shouldn't have said that."

Dumbledore chuckled. "It's nothing I haven't heard before - and thought myself many times. I continue to hear you're doing excellent work there, though. We're all so proud of you." He held out a dish. "Caramel?"

"No, thank you." Hermione sipped at her tea and made perfunctory responses to Dumbledore's questions about her job, her friends, and the weather in London. She tried to remain patient throughout the pleasantries. He would ask his inevitable question soon enough, she would tell him she'd heard nothing, learned nothing, and made no progress whatsoever, and then they would talk briefly of the past before he allowed her to escape. Severus and Harry had been gone for three years, and she and Dumbledore had been searching for the past two. They had been having these meetings several times each year, and she knew the routine by heart. She was already rehearsing her speech when he said the words that halted her thoughts in their figurative tracks.

"Hermione, I believe I've located them."

She lowered her teacup and looked at him, too stunned to formulate a reply.

"They're in America, on the East coast."

She found her tongue. "Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be. They were there as of last week." Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Nothing about their situation suggests that they're likely to pick up and move. Harry is working and going to a Muggle university. I'm not exactly clear on what Severus is doing, but he's living nearby under the name of Russ Stone."

"I'm…I'm not sure what…I wasn't expecting this." She pressed her lips together firmly and willed herself not to cry. Her mind seemed stuck in first gear, unable to get past "they're found" and move on to the next logical step. What _was _the next logical step? She looked to Dumbledore, hoping he'd just give her the answer.

"I don't know either," he said, reading her mind. "To all appearances, they're happy. Perhaps it would be unkind to interfere now."

"If they wanted to return…it would be safe now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, I believe it would," Dumbledore said confidently. "You know how much good has been accomplished in the three years since they left. Every known Death Eater has been imprisoned. That doesn't mean there couldn't be some unknown enemies lurking out there - people like Neilus Finbar - but those who posed a threat to Severus three years ago have been taken care of, one way or another."

Hermione nodded, and her mind began working again after its uncharacteristic lapse. "How did you find them?"

"Severus's stepfather died recently. Apparently he had been acting as an agent of sorts to Harry and Severus - handling Muggle investments for them so that they would be able to support themselves. I had investigated him before, of course, early on when we began our search, but he was a particularly clever businessman and managed to handle their affairs very discreetly. His death opened up his accounts to a greater degree of scrutiny, and I was able to do some tracking."

"Do you know anything about them…personally?

Dumbledore gave her a gentle smile. "Not really. I know neither of them is married, if that goes any distance toward answering your question. Other than that…no." He looked at her intently, settling his glasses more firmly on his crooked nose. "Hermione, I've given this some thought, and I believe that I am satisfied just knowing that they are alive and well. I will leave it up to you to decide if that's enough to satisfy you."

Hermione looked down at her teacup as she fought the urge to lash out at the elderly wizard. How dare he drop this in her lap? He'd spent years trying to find them, and now that he had, he was forcing her to make all the difficult choices. How _dare_ he?

Something of her feelings must have shown in her posture. "Hermione." The Headmaster's soft voice caused her to unclench a fraction, and she was able to look at him. "I don't mean to pry, my dear, but do you still have…feelings…for Severus?"

She did lash out then. She couldn't help it. "How would I know?" she exclaimed. "Tell me that, Professor. How could I _possibly_ know? We had a week together more than three years ago. I thought I loved him, but we hardly had the chance to get to know one another before we were back at Hogwarts and I had to pretend I _hated _him. I survived that by telling myself that in a few short months it would be over, and we could be together like a normal couple – you know, spend time together and laugh and talk and learn one another's likes and dislikes. Don't you see? We never did any of that! He just disappeared and I was left behind wondering if I'd ever feel that way about anyone again."

"And have you?"

"No." Her voice was barely a whisper, as if it had run out of steam during her tirade. "No, I haven't. I've tried. I've tried to forget him, to see other men, but it's never been the same. I've always felt…disloyal, somehow, even though he wouldn't allow any promises between us before he left."

Dumbledore smiled at her gently. "I think you've found your answer, child. You need to see him, even if it's just so you can put that part of your past behind you."

"Perhaps you're right." She bit her lip, torn between eagerness and fear. 

"You know, Hermione, sometimes the heart makes promises, and no words ever need to be spoken. Go to him, child. Find out."

She nodded. "I'll go this weekend."

§ § § § 

She would travel the Muggle way, she decided. Apparating across the ocean was tricky business, and given the state of her nerves she preferred not to attempt it. She packed a small bag with Muggle clothing, realizing as she did so that she'd completely lost track of Muggle fashion. Somehow, she didn't think Severus Snape would care - or even notice - what she wore. Beyond that, she had no idea what to expect from him. It had simply been too long.

Had they been brought back together within two or three months, or even six, she had no doubt that they would have been able to pick up where they had left off before his arrest. She couldn't mark a single day when that had changed, when it would have been impossible to simply throw herself in his arms, when words would have had to be spoken and decisions made before they could resume a relationship. Somehow that day had come and gone, disguised as just another day. She had missed it until she first had heard of Fudge's resignation in response to a host of Ministry scandals. The day she stood next to a silently triumphant Dumbledore as the new Minister of Magic pardoned Severus Snape and Harry Potter on the Headmaster's evidence was the day she realized that his face had begun to fade from her memory. Some days it was difficult to recall the exact timbre of his voice. He still visited her dreams, though even that was happening less and less often, as if even her subconscious was releasing its hold on him. Hope faded along with the memories when there was no word from him, and in the two years since that day, she had forced herself to 'get on with her life' or at least to perform the expected rituals. She had a job and a flat and a few casual friends. It all constituted a life to anyone who didn't bother to look very closely.

Her closest friends were still there at Hogwarts - Minerva McGonagall, who had continued to provide a shoulder to cry on and had nursed her through her two failed attempts at romance, and Remus Lupin, who was teaching upper level Care of Magical Creatures. She and Remus had clung to one another in the first months after Severus and Harry had left, and his friendship had been the saving grace of her seventh year. If she had felt like the odd one out amongst her peers before, it was nothing compared with how she felt after Severus and Harry fled the U.K. It was difficult enough hiding a relationship with her professor, but that situation combined with the events that led to his exile left her with far more secrets than were comfortable. She was almost afraid to talk to her classmates for fear of letting something slip, so she kept to herself as much as possible and unburdened herself to Minerva and Remus and no one else.

Of course, gossip over the disappearances was rampant at Hogwarts and everywhere else in the wizarding world. Hermione was targeted by the press for a time as they sought the whereabouts of The Boy Who Lived. Public opinion seemed to be divided as to whether Harry and Severus were actually together or whether the timing of the disappearances was coincidental. Fudge, of course, asserted that it wasn't, but Harry's fellow Gryffindors were quite vocal in their insistence that nothing short of _Imperio_ would make Harry run away with _Snape_.

Eventually, the storm of interest passed, and in the two years since Severus and Harry had been pardoned, the editor of the _Prophet _hadconfined himself to three or four speculative articles. Harry was always the focus of these, with Severus mentioned in passing, if at all. Hermione was still occasionally asked if she knew where Harry was or if she had heard from him, but of course, she didn't and hadn't, so the questions were easily deflected.

Only now she _did _know, and that changed everything. She realized that Dumbledore was right – she had to see Severus, even if it was so that she could look at him and realize that she'd put her life on hold for a schoolgirl infatuation or so that he could scoff at her and send her away. She would survive that, but she wasn't at all certain she could survive not knowing anything at all when the answer was finally attainable. She wasn't sure if she was chasing a dream or exorcising a demon - it had simply been too long - but at least she would finally _know_. She refused to acknowledge the faint hope she felt as she snapped her suitcase shut and reached for her plane ticket. 

§ § § § 

"I can't believe I'm finally going to meet this mysterious godfather of yours."

"Well, just promise you won't let him offend you. He's not known for his social graces and doesn't exactly go out of his way to be _nice_. You just have to learn how to take him," Harry looked at his girlfriend with an impish smile. "It took me about nine years, so don't feel too badly if you don't manage it over one dinner."

"Oh come on, Harry. He can't be _that_ bad."

"Er, yeah, actually he _can_, but I'm hoping he won't be. I made him promise to be on his best behaviour."

"What were your parents _thinking_?"

"They weren't, exactly." Harry shook his head. "It's a long story."

"You say that about a lot of things," she said, a slight edge to her voice. 

Harry lifted the hand he had clasped in his own and kissed it. "I know," he said. "And I'm sorry. I just can't explain it all yet. But I promise I will when the time is right."

"You're not going to tell me you're really an extra-terrestrial or something are you?"

"Bugger! You've found me out!"

She giggled, and he was relieved to feel her tension subsiding. Mostly, it hadn't been hard maintaining a "normal" relationship. He had lived among Muggles long enough now to pass as one easily, unlike Severus, who still refused to make much effort and preferred the seclusion of his basement. 

Since coming to the United States two years before, he had received his graduation equivalency with astonishing ease and had begun taking a few courses at University. There had been the odd awkward moment, when some gap in his education became publicly apparent, but he had been able to attribute it to the differences between being educated in a British public school and the American school system. He had a job he loved, coaching pee wee football – the American kind – for the local recreation centre. He didn't enjoy football quite as well as he had Quidditch, but he'd still thrown himself into the game with enthusiasm and could spend hours discussing plays and strategy with his college friends. For the last six months, he'd had Amery, whom he had met in a class at University and fallen in love with at first sight. It had taken her a bit longer; he had asked her out three times before she finally accepted him. He learned later that her intention had been to go out with him once, tell him she wasn't interested, and make him promise not to ask again, but at some point during the course of the date, he had apparently done something to change her mind. He'd never yet figured out what it was, but he gave thanks every day for his good fortune.

Harry Potter was in love.

It had taken him three months to confide this to his godfather and three more to get Severus to agree to meet Amery. He was deliberately keeping his expectations for the evening very low.

September was nearly gone, but the weather was still warm, so they walked from Harry's apartment to the small bungalow Severus rented nearby. He and Severus had been forced to live together when they were travelling in the first year or so after they had left England, but they quickly realized that neither preferred that arrangement. When they had known that they would be staying in one place for a significant length of time, they had each sought living quarters that suited them while staying close enough for easy contact. Severus had insisted that Harry continue his advanced training in magic whether or not he ever intended to put the information to use, so they met several times a week to go over his progress. 

Harry Potter was now not only the most powerful wizard in the world, he was also one of the best trained. He rather appreciated the irony of his Muggle oblivion and thought that perhaps Severus did as well. He had reached the point where there was little left for Severus – or the books that Severus somehow managed to acquire – to teach him, and now their meetings tended more toward philosophical discussions. They carefully avoided any mention of their shared past, preferring to deal in hypotheticals while the realities remained trapped in memory. They discussed Dark magic and Dark wizards at length, but never once called Voldemort by name, a circumstance that Harry found ironic in the extreme. They never called Dumbledore by name either, or any other witch or wizard they had known, though Severus did occasionally make reference to "the Headmaster," "your Head of House," or "those idiots at the Ministry."

Most of all, they never talked about Hermione. 

Harry had tried once, in the early days after they had left London, and the look on Snape's face was enough to discourage him ever mentioning her again. It had been fury, yes, but also raw pain – a vulnerability that Harry had never associated with Snape and didn't _want_ to associate with him just then. He had needed Snape's consistency in those early days, had needed to be treated much as he always had and to view Severus Snape as source of strength. He had not wanted to see Snape as someone who could have a broken heart.

Since then, he had wished that he had not allowed the mention of Hermione's name to become taboo. He missed Hermione more than anyone else he had left behind and would have liked to at least talk about her with someone. He wondered what she was doing and knew that Severus probably could have found out. But he never managed to break the silence.

Someday, if things went as he hoped, he would have to tell Amery much of this, and the names would be spoken aloud for the first time in three years. It would be a lengthy conversation, and until they had it, there was no way to explain to her how Severus Snape had come to be his godfather or why he actually cared for the unpleasant man. 

Back in his student days, he never would have believed that he could have such complex feelings for Snape. He'd simply detested the man and had assumed the feeling was mutual. It probably had been. Even when they fled together, his primary emotion had been dread. But a symbiosis had developed between them with Harry, as Dumbledore had predicted, teaching Severus about how to live amongst the Muggles, and Severus teaching Harry how to live in the shadows. It was some months before his magical training formally began.; his first lessons were in disguising himself effectively, learning to answer to a different name, and travelling without leaving any evidence behind. He taught Severus how to use things like a credit card, a telephone, and electrical appliances. They stayed at least one step ahead of any Ministry investigation; gradually they relaxed a little and remained in one place for longer periods. Even so, they didn't trust themselves to make friends, and for Harry, this was the most difficult part of living in exile. He was lonely, and there was no one else to turn to, except Snape, who gradually became "Severus" as the hostilities between them lessened and an unconventional friendship was forged. Even now, though he did have other friends, there was no one else in his life who knew his entire history, the people and events that had shaped him into the person he was. There was no one else who even knew his real name. No matter how unpleasant Severus could be, Harry felt drawn to him as the one tangible link to his past. It was important to him, then, that Severus meet Amery, and important that she accept the fact that his strange godfather was a significant person in his life. It was rather too much, he thought, to expect her to actually _like_ him. 

He knocked at the door with a sure hand and then pushed it open, having unlocked it magically. "Severus?"

"Here." Severus' voice came at them from the direction of the kitchen, and Harry led Amery by the hand through the neat sitting room. Her hand tightened on his as she caught her first glimpse of his godfather. Severus was dressed all in black, in neatly pressed trousers and an elegant long-sleeved shirt, and he stood in the kitchen slicing vegetables for a salad. Several pots boiled on the stove behind them, and he checked them with a glance, reaching for a knob and turning down the flame while still holding the knife in the opposite hand. 

"Miss Collins, I presume," he said smoothly, wiping the knife on a towel before setting it aside.

The gesture was deliberately menacing, and Amery's eyes were perhaps a touch wider than normal as she nodded and then glanced at Harry for reassurance. 

Harry smirked a little. "Severus, this is _Amery_. You can call her by her first name. Amery, this is my godfather, Severus Stone."

"Uh, it's nice to meet you Mr. Stone," she said, managing a smile. "Harry's told me a lot about you."

"I've heard quite a bit about you as well," Severus replied. "You've been mentioned sixty or seventy times in every conversation Harry and I have had in the last few months – to the detriment of his studies, I might add."

"Severus," Harry groaned. 

"Do you help Harry with his classes?" Amery asked.

"In a manner of speaking." That was apparently all she was going to hear about that, so Amery lapsed into silence, letting Harry fill the conversational void with talk of his coaching duties and classes that day as Severus moved around the kitchen. Harry helped himself to the refrigerator and retrieved two beers, handing one to Amery and then settling at the kitchen table with the other one. Snape handed him a cutting board and followed it with mushrooms and a knife. 

"Make yourself useful," he snapped.

Amery looked annoyed, but Harry began chopping automatically, slicing the mushrooms lengthwise and then rendering them into perfect squares as he talked.

"I've never seen anyone chop a mushroom like that before," Amery said, staring at the tiny pieces. "It's as if you used a ruler to get them all the right size."

"Severus taught me to do them that way," Harry said, looking down at the pieces. "I don't even think about it anymore."

Amery cast a questioning look at Snape's back. "I am a scientist, Miss Collins," he said, startling her. "Precision is crucial in my line of work."

"Of course," she said, her voice rather smaller than usual.

It was an uncomfortable group that sat down to the table a few minutes later. Amery was able to praise the meal with all sincerity, but after that she fell silent, looking to Harry for conversation. Unfortunately, Severus had interpreted Harry's plea that he be on his best behaviour to mean that he should open his mouth as little as possible, so Harry was left to carry on a monologue. He was exhausted and felt a headache coming on by the time they finished the meal. 

"Uh, Mr. Stone, could Harry and I help you clean up?" Amery asked politely.

"No thank you. There's not much to it," Severus answered with a glint in his dark eyes. "This kitchen practically cleans itself."

Harry shot Severus a warning look and hurried Amery to the sitting room while Severus cleaned the kitchen with one flick of his wand. He rather enjoyed cooking the Muggle way, but he had no intention of cleaning up. He sat down at the table with a glass of wine, listening to the sound of the dishes banging together in the sink and knowing that he had a few minutes before he had to go out there and play godfather again. He'd come to accept Harry as his own particular burden and had even come to enjoy the lessons and some of their discussions, but he had no interest in meeting Harry's girlfriends. That was the boy's business and he could handle it however he pleased as far as Severus was concerned. 

He heard the doorbell ring, and Harry called out, "I'll get it."

Probably another neighbourhood urchin selling something for school. He'd terrified the last one so thoroughly that he hadn't expected to be bothered again, but maybe the word hadn't gotten out yet. He sighed and sipped at his wine, envisioning Harry undoing his efforts by purchasing six rolls of wrapping paper.

§ § § § 

Harry was in the process of whispering assurances to Amery that his godfather was _not _a vampire when the doorbell rang. He called out to Severus that he would get it and made his way to the door, wondering who it could possibly be. As far as he knew, he was Severus' only local acquaintance though his godfather did conduct a fair amount of business by owl post these days.

"Hi Harry." 

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. "Hermione," he choked out. "What are you…how did you find us?"

She arched an eyebrow. "May I come in?"

"Of course!" Harry stepped back, and as Hermione came into the house, he came to his senses and pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry!" he whispered. "I was just so surprised."

"I understand." She hugged him back and tears came to her eyes as the reality set in. This was _Harry_. He was here in her arms. She sniffled and then laughed through the tears. "I'm sorry! I'm being an idiot, aren't I? I've just missed you so much."

Harry pulled back and wiped a tear away from his own cheek. "If you're an idiot then I suppose I'm one too," he said. "I've missed you too – more than I can ever tell you." 

"Why didn't you ever write?" she asked sadly. "Even something anonymous, just so I'd know you were ok." 

"I thought about it loads of times. I was just so afraid for you. I thought you'd be better off if you could just forget me and move on."

"I could never, ever forget you, you great idiot! I've been looking for you for _years_. Professor Dumbledore has too. It's safe for you to come home now, Harry. Please say you will!"

For the first time since Hermione had arrived, Harry remembered Amery. She sat frozen on the couch, apparently trying to make sense of the conversation and the person before her.

"Hermione, this is my girlfriend Amery Collins. Amery, this is Hermione Granger. She was my best friend back at…the school I went to in England."

"Hi," Amery said faintly, standing up and approaching Hermione. 

"Hi Amery," Hermione said. "It's nice to meet you."

Amery nodded, apparently not having quite made up her mind about whether meeting Hermione was a nice thing or not. 

"Miss Granger." Snape's voice came from the doorway. "This is certainly a surprise. Your investigative abilities must have improved since we saw one another last."

Hermione stiffened as his baritone filled the room and worked its own magic on the base of her spine. It was the voice of her dreams, and she had not thought to hear it again, at least while she was awake. Her voice was a bit shaky as she tried to answer him in kind. "No, Professor. I'm afraid my investigative abilities are what they ever were. Professor Dumbledore is the one who found you."

"And what, may I ask, was his purpose in tracking me down? Has he a vacancy in Potions he needs to fill, or is he in need of my less admirable abilities?"

She bit her lip, scathed by his biting sarcasm, and Harry stepped a little closer, silently lending his support. "Neither, actually. He is fully staffed at the moment, and the Aurors seem to be doing their jobs well. He sent me to tell you that it is safe to come home."

It suddenly occurred to Harry that he was either going to have to obliviate Amery's memories or tell her everything that evening. He decided to tell her everything for starters and keep the first option open in case she reacted poorly. He interrupted the verbal duel that was brewing between Hermione and Severus and said, "Amery must be very confused. Could we sit down, please, and discuss this?"

"Certainly," Severus drawled sarcastically. "Forgive me for being such a poor host." He settled into his favourite chair and gestured for the others to follow suit.

Hermione took the chair opposite Severus, and Harry sat next to Amery on the sofa, taking her hand in his. "For starters, my name isn't really Harry Evans," he began. "You know there's a lot I haven't been able to tell you…about my school years and my time back in England. I went to a special sort of a school, you see. A school for, erm…witches and wizards." He watched her carefully to see how this would be received, wincing a little as her eyes widened in shock.

"Oh shit!" she blurted out. "You're Harry _Potter_!"

Harry, Hermione and Severus were temporarily united in their stunned reaction to Amery's outburst. 

"Miss Collins?" Snape asked carefully. "May I ask how you are aware of Harry Potter?"

"Because I'm a witch, of course," she said. "_Everybody _has heard of Harry Potter. I just didn't expect to find out I was _dating_ him."

"You're a witch?" Harry said stupidly. "Why are you at Muggle university?

She shrugged. "I promised my Dad. He's a Muggle and wanted me to get a Muggle education too. I went to Salem Hall for middle and high school and then was tutored in some of the Muggle subjects for a year or so before I started at the university. He doesn't mind that I'm a witch like my Mom, but he wants me to be well-rounded."

Hermione saw the look on Harry's face and started to laugh. She found the nerve to glance at Severus and saw the humour hiding in his dark eyes as well. "That's so perfect!" she said, laughing even harder, "Thousands of Muggle girls to choose from, and you had to go and accidentally find a witch. You really are stuck being Harry Potter, Harry."

"I know. Just call me The Boy Who Lived." Harry chuckled too, and the laughter dispelled some of the tension in the room.

"I will never call you that," Hermione assured him. "But I'm glad you can joke about it now." 

Harry shrugged. "Just because I can joke about it doesn't mean I want to go back to being Harry Potter," he said, serious now. "I'm happy here, Hermione. I really am. Severus has continued my training, so it's not like I've ignored magic completely, but I like being a regular person. I like being able to go out in public without people staring and pointing. I like knowing that Amery went out with me because she liked _me _and not because she wanted to date someone famous. I'd never be able to have that back in Britain."

"No. You wouldn't," Hermione said sadly. _You'd have me_, she thought, but she didn't dare say the words out loud. It wouldn't be fair to make him choose, and she had a feeling, looking at Harry and Amery together, that he wouldn't choose her anyway.

"Hermione," Harry said gently. "We'll always be friends, no matter where I am. If it's really safe now, maybe I can Apparate to England from time to time and we can see each other."

"You can Apparate across the ocean?" Amery said admiringly.

Harry shrugged. 

"You'll find that there's very little that Harry Potter can't do," Severus said. "Aside from Potions, which I've never been able to get him to take an interest in."

"Ironic, isn't it?" Harry asked with a grin.

"He chops mushrooms nicely," Amery defended.

"My first years knew how to do that," Severus said scathingly. "I'm appalled that you weren't taught proper chopping techniques at Salem Hall."

"We were," she said. "It just never occurred to me to apply those skills to salad making. I'm afraid Potions wasn't my best subject."

Severus snorted his opinion of that, but despite her disinterest in his subject, he had to admit he liked the girl better now that he knew she was a witch. Old prejudices die hard, and it had troubled him to imagine his protégé involved with a Muggle.

Harry looked at Hermione. "How long can you stay?"

"Through the weekend. I have to be back at work on Monday."

"What do you do?" 

"Ministry," she said briefly. "Magical Innovations."

That led to further discussion of her work and changes at the Ministry, which in turn led to a discussion of the Death Eaters who had been caught and imprisoned over the last three years, Fudge's resignation, and Severus' and Harry's subsequent pardons. Amery sat quietly, for the most part, inferring much of the past through the discussion of the present. Severus remained silent as well, his face impassive as Harry and Hermione got caught up and the names and events that had been tucked away for so long suddenly paraded through the room, but Hermione thought that Severus didn't seem terribly surprised by some of the news. It appeared that he had kept Harry in the dark, but she suspected he'd already known that it would be safe for them to return to Britain. Not a hopeful thought, that.

Finally she turned to him. "So, Professor, what do you do to keep yourself busy in exile?"

"Research," he answered. "I have a laboratory in my basement and have been working for an American potions manufacturer."

"Just what you always wanted to do," she said softly, searching his face. "Are you…happy?"

"I'm satisfied," he replied, his eyes flickering away from her. 

She nodded and glanced at Harry. He cleared his throat and decided to interfere. Apparently these two weren't going to get anywhere without a shove. "Why don't you show Hermione your laboratory?" he suggested. "You know she loves that stuff."

"I'm sure she wouldn't…"

"I'd love to," Hermione said quickly, standing up and giving him a pointed look.

He sighed and stood up as well. "Very well, Miss Granger. This way."

They disappeared through a doorway and footsteps were heard on a wooden staircase. "What was that about?" Amery asked. 

"They have some unfinished business between them," Harry said. "They fell in love, and then Severus and I had to leave England before they could really do anything about it."

"She was in love with _him_?" Amery exclaimed. "Oh that is really weird."

Harry put his arm around her. "My whole _life_ is really weird. It seems to spill over to everyone I come in contact with."

She smiled at him. "I think I'll risk it."

"I'm glad." Harry planted a kiss on the side of her head. "Say listen…do you by any chance like Quidditch?"

She looked mildly affronted. "I was the star chaser at Salem Hall."

Harry's mouth dropped open for a moment, and then he swallowed hard. "Amery, I have never been so turned on in my entire life."

§ § § § 

Severus switched on the lights in the basement, and watched as Hermione examined the neat shelves of ingredients and immaculate workbench. His desk was in the same spot, relatively, as it had been in his private laboratory back at Hogwarts. In fact, despite the absence of stone walls, the whole room resembled his laboratory at Hogwarts, right down to the damp chill of the place. 

"This is exactly right," she said, running a finger lightly down the line of jars. "I've always pictured you in a place just like this."

"I haven't always had the luxury," he said. "We moved around a lot in the first years. There was no opportunity to set up a permanent laboratory."

"How long have you been here?"

"Almost two years now," he said, vaguely surprised to realize it had actually been that long. "It seemed safe to make a more permanent arrangement, and Harry's been happy here."

She smiled. "It seems so strange to hear you call him 'Harry.'"

"I suppose it would. After we fled it was necessary, obviously, that I call him something other than 'Potter.' We've both used several different names over the years."

"You've hidden well if it's taken Professor Dumbledore this long to find you."

"Why was he looking at all?"

"To know that you were all right, mostly. He wasn't going to disturb you. He just wanted to know where you were. It was my decision to come here."

"Harry was happy to see you," he said coolly. "He's missed you."

"I've missed him too, but I didn't expect him to open the door tonight. I came here to see you." She watched him, obviously looking for some reaction to her words, but he only turned away slightly and busied himself with some unnecessary straightening at his workbench.

"Have I done something to make you angry?" she asked.

"No." He winced slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I was just…startled. Upstairs. Of course you haven't done anything."

"Can I ask you something?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I suspect you will whether I give you permission or not."

She acknowledged his assessment with a fleeting smile and then went on seriously. "You already knew, didn't you? That you and Harry had been pardoned."

He nodded. "I heard of it shortly after it happened. My stepfather forwarded issues of the _Daily Prophet_ and kept me otherwise informed."

"Did you think of returning home?"

"Not seriously. I knew Harry didn't want to return to England, and I didn't feel he was ready to be on his own. I had only just begun to undertake his advanced training at that time."

"But if it hadn't been for Harry…?" 

His mouth quirked slightly. "I see you haven't lost any of your persistence over the years. What do you want me to say? Are you asking if I've thought of you?" He pinned her with his dark gaze until she nodded slightly. He sighed. "Of course I have. But that doesn't mean I was foolish enough to think I should walk back into your life after dropping out of sight for more than a year. I assumed you'd moved on - _hoped _you had. I heard…" he faltered slightly and then resumed, "You and I were thrown together in very unusual circumstances…"

"Wait a minute," she interrupted. "You heard what?"

His mouth thinned with obvious irritation. "You also ask as many questions as you used to," he snapped. "I suppose it was too much to hope you had outgrown that habit."

"Too much by far," she agreed archly. "Now what is it that you heard but don't want to tell me?"

He turned back to his workbench then, unwilling to look at her. Guarding his expressions had once been second nature, but after three years of anonymity, he feared he might be out of practice. Despite the fact that he had lived under an assumed name, he had, in many ways, been living the most straightforward life of his adult years. He saw so few people that lying was no longer a daily necessity. No one but Harry knew him well enough to read his expressions, so hiding them hadn't been important. It had been…relaxing, actually, after all the years of pretending allegiance to people he despised and pretending to loathe people he actually cared something about. Now he was just 'that odd man next door, who keeps to himself.' Which was fine. But Hermione had known him as virtually no one else had. Their time together had been brief, but with her he had stripped himself of all his guises, and even after three years apart, he felt vulnerable to her scrutiny. Dumbledore was the only other person who inspired that feeling. 

"Severus?" she prompted.

"It's immaterial," he ground out, moving a perfectly clean vial to the sink. "Suffice it to say that I was under the impression that you were happy…"

"You heard I was involved with Gregor," she said flatly.

"Yes," he admitted, realizing as he said it how like a jealous teenager he sounded. Ridiculous, of course. He met her gaze again and went on in a firm voice. "I assumed you were happy. I had a responsibility to Harry. So no, I never considered returning to Britain."

"It didn't work out," she said. "Between Gregor and me."

"Why not?" he asked, before he could quite stop himself.

"That's what I'm here to find out," she said quietly. "You know, you don't have to say you missed me or that you wanted to see me. In fact, if you want me to go away, all you have to do is say the word, and I'll never bother you again. But I'd like to hear…_something_. Something definite. I've tried to forget you, Severus. I've tried to convince myself that what I felt for you was schoolgirl infatuation and that it didn't mean anything. But the thing is…I was never much of a girl for infatuations. I thought it was more than that at the time. I still think so, even though we were never really given much of a chance to see what might have come of it."

His hands came to rest lightly on the surface of his immaculate bench. "No, we weren't," he said, suddenly having difficulty controlling his voice. "I couldn't bring you with me, Hermione. I couldn't let you make that decision on the spur of the moment, without having time to really consider all you would have been giving up. You were so young…I just couldn't."

"I think I understand that now, even if I can't quite thank you for it. But I do believe you had my best interests at heart. Everything's different now, though, and I was just wondering if you still…felt anything at all for me…if we might see one another – get to know each other again, as two adults." She took a step closer and reached out for him, resting her hand on the bench, stopping just short of touching his. 

It was such a small space that separated them, and every instinct screamed for him to close the gap, to reach for her hand and pull her to him. He only had to see her standing in his living room on an otherwise normal night to know that his feelings for her had not diminished a whit, no matter what he'd tried to tell himself over the years. But what of those years? It was ridiculous to think they didn't matter, that neither of them had changed. He could see the changes in her plainly enough. She spoke with a woman's voice now, a woman's certainty. A quiet confidence that hadn't been there before. Was it even conceivable that he could still be what she wanted?

"I'm not asking for any promises this time," she said quietly. 

He held his breath as he tentatively closed the distance between them and ran sensitive fingertips over the back of her hand, skimming lightly over the delicate metacarpals before clasping it in his. He felt a slight tremble but couldn't tell if it was hers or his - a realization that filled him with unexpected joy. He smiled, really smiled, for the first time in years and pulled her gently into his arms. "Foolish girl," he murmured into her hair. 

She answered him with a choked sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but her arms snaked around his waist, and she settled her head into its familiar nook just below his chin. He ran a hesitant hand over her tangle of brown curls. 

"Harry is a grown man now," he said softly, his voice muffled slightly by her hair. "There's nothing more that I can teach him. I think…it's time I returned to Britain." His hand stilled in her curls. "I think it's time I come home."

She looked up at him then and smiled, and as their lips met, he felt something buried deep within him stir and come to life.

**__**

The End

Only – but this is rare –

When a beloved hand is laid in ours,

When, jaded with the rush and glare

Of the interminable hours,

Our eyes can in another's read clear,

When our world-deafened ear

Is by the tones of a loved voice caressed –

A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,

And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.

The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,

And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.

A man becomes aware of his life's flow,

And hears its winding murmur; and he sees

The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.

****

From "The Buried Life" by Matthew Arnold


End file.
